The Dragons of Veyga
by Closet Scrawler
Summary: Kirk and Spock must secure a trade agreement with a pre-warp society, and get caught in the power struggle between the planet's two largest factions. -Not Slash-
1. Chapter 1

**Historian's Note: **Takes place not long before the events in 'The Mark of Gideon'.

**Author's Note:** I know that it is somewhat lazy writing to conveniently send the Enterprise _somewhere else_ to be conveniently doing _something else_ just so that I can isolate my favorite character and _his_ favorite character, but frankly it was done so often in the series that I feel I have canonical justification. It should be noted that this is my first 'real' story, with chapters and a plot. My primary concern is that certain portions move too slowly, particularly in the areas of building the plot and background. I enjoy creating worlds, but I have no wish to bore my readers. I also need to know if it gets too sappy. Feedback on these matters would be greatly appreciated.

**WARNING:** I do not consider the injuries described in this story to be graphic in nature, but I feel it prudent to mention that this scrawling is rated T for violence.

**EDIT March 2011:** As a result of feedback, I have made extensive alterations. Most notable is the addition of chapter 14, scooting the original chapter 14 into chapter 15.

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**=(^)= The Dragons of Veyga =(^)=

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The captain of the Enterprise was currently sitting at his chief medical officer's desk, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in a futile effort to hold off a headache.

"Captain Kirk," the nasal voice of Ambassador Coleman grated, "you _do_ realize the importance of the situation, do you not?"

Kirk folded his hands atop the desk, absently rubbing one thumb back and forth over the other. He looked at the man glowering at him from the desk's small monitor and forced a pleasant smile. "Yes, Ambassador," he answered smoothly. "But if my science officer says there is too much interference for transporters to function, then I guarantee that stepping on the platform would be suicide."

"Then why are you not already on one of your shuttlecraft?" Coleman demanded angrily.

Kirk took a deep, calming breath. "My chief engineer and his best technicians have been up all through the ship's night and are at this very moment modifying the shields and engines of the Copernicus to allow it to function properly." His strained smile softened. "I've been told the radiation is a _fascinating_ discovery, previously unknown to science." Coleman narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if he truly suspected Kirk of deliberately delaying his mission, and Kirk's smile slipped. "I have my orders, sir," he continued, trying to sound apologetic. "Beta Verida needs this trade agreement, and we have twelve days to get you to the coronation. This detour will not take long. I assure you, Ambassador, the Enterprise will be on time."

"You had better hope so," Coleman said with a scowl that deepened the aged lines of his face. He jabbed a finger at the viewscreen. "You have a reputation in diplomatic circles, Kirk – things always go wrong with your ship." Without another word, the communication abruptly terminated.

Kirk let his breath out slowly, staring at the wall in front of the terminal. It was fortunate that the bulkhead was comprised of the strongest alloy currently known to man, or else it might well have buckled under the angry glare leveled at it. A derisive snort drew Kirk's attention to the owner of the desk, leaning against the wall just out of range of the video pick-up with his arms crossed.

"He had no call to insult my crew," Kirk said as he got to his feet and stalked out of sickbay. Spock and McCoy had both already gotten their subcutaneous transponders earlier this morning, but Kirk had been delayed by one thing after another since he woke. The thing itched under his skin as it always did, and this - coupled with his lack of coffee - wasn't improving his mood. Pain he could handle, but he absolutely hated being itchy. "My ship does _not_ have a rep for botched missions."

McCoy pushed away from the wall and scooped up his medkit from the desk. He looped the thin strap over his shoulder and hurried after Kirk, jogging a little to catch up with him in the corridor. "You know, Jim," he drawled lazily. "Before I signed on with you, I didn't believe in Fate. I didn't believe in hexes and curses, and I certainly didn't believe the universe was out to get ships named Enterprise."

The corridor ended in a turbolift and the doors slid open for them. "Bridge," Kirk barked once they were inside. "You're getting paranoid, Bones."

McCoy cast a sidelong glance at his commanding officer. "You can't honestly tell me that we don't have more than our fair share of bad luck."

Kirk lifted one shoulder in a reluctant shrug. "I'll admit… we do seem to attract trouble…"

"Well that does it - this mission is jinxed," McCoy sighed in resignation and ignored Kirk's annoyed frown. "On the bright side," he added, giving his friend a lopsided smile and waving a finger at the ceiling. "Spock's practically having kittens up there."

Kirk shook his head with a little laugh just as the lift opened onto the bridge. They both stepped out, but Kirk paused on the threshold to let the familiar sounds wash over him. It seemed to Kirk that diplomats should be adept at behaving in a pleasant and friendly manner, but for some reason this concept did not translate from theory to reality. Coleman wasn't the most obnoxious diplomat Kirk had ever met, but the man could try even a Vulcan's patience. At this thought, his eyes went automatically to the science station.

Kirk's foul mood evaporated and a corner of his mouth tweaked upward as he watched his first officer leaning over the hooded display. The star of this system emitted a completely unknown radiation, and, while Kirk was annoyed that this new discovery interfered with the functioning of his ship, he couldn't help but be amused by his science officer's carefully concealed enthusiasm. Kirk glanced at McCoy, and the doctor waggled his eyebrows in a clear challenge.

Uhura smiled at him as he passed her station, giving him a sympathetic look. "Yeoman Johnson is bringing coffee, sir," she said quietly for his hearing alone.

"Bless you," Kirk answered with heartfelt gratitude and gave her slender shoulder a brief pat. Kirk stopped beside Spock and folded his hands behind his back, while McCoy leaned casually on the rail behind them. If the rest of the bridge crew likened the pair to raptors descending upon prey, none of them would ever dare say so aloud.

Spock adjusted a control on the side of his viewer, and did not look up as he spoke. "I presume the ambassador called to remind you of the timetable set by Starfleet?"

"Oh, yes, he has," Kirk answered with a playful little smile, trading another quick look with McCoy. He rocked forward on his toes to peer into Spock's viewer, catching a glimpse of solar flare readouts before leaning back with a mischievous tilt of his head. "Having fun, Mister Spock?"

Spock inhaled slowly, and adjusted another control before looking up to give his captain a pointedly raised eyebrow. McCoy he ignored.

Kirk held up his hands in surrender and Spock returned to his scanner, instantly engrossed in whatever he was studying. Kirk took hold of McCoy's elbow as he stepped away from the console, and the doctor allowed himself to be steered towards the center of the bridge with a small noise of disappointment.

"Glory hog," McCoy groused as Kirk settled himself in the command chair.

Sulu and Chekov grinned at each other, and the captain pointed at the viewscreen. Both officers quickly turned back to their work, but not before Chekov stole a quick peek at Spock. Kirk wondered if Spock had any idea how fondly the crew viewed the commander when he was this excited. He turned in his chair to look back at his first officer, but if Spock was aware of the general air of good humor on the bridge, he gave no indication.

Johnson appeared with the promised coffee, interrupting any further ideas of tormenting his stoic Vulcan first officer. The pretty brunette returned his smile of thanks before moving off to distribute more cups around the bridge. There wasn't much he could do now but wait for Scotty to finish preparing a shuttle, so he wrapped both hands around the coffee cup and let the warmth wash away what little remained of his irritation.

For one brief moment, Kirk wished that he commanded a lesser vessel than the Enterprise. All the ships of her line took turns patrolling the neutral zones and running inspection tours of top-security facilities, but a Constitution-class starship's primary mission was to explore. Except for the flagship. It was a showy display of grandeur to send the flagship, and they were often pulled away from their exploratory missions to engage in tedious diplomatic events. Far too much of the time for Kirk's taste, his ship was reduced to the status of glorified passenger liner. He was actually grateful for this detour, because it would shorten the time he had to endure the ambassador's company.

Starfleet wasn't giving them much time here, however. They were allotted three days for this mission before they were required to head out to Starbase 11 to pick up Ambassador Coleman and escort him to a coronation. Kirk sipped at his coffee as he scrutinized the world turning slowly on the viewscreen. It was lush, great oceans broken by huge swaths of forests. Its most advanced civilization was confined to a small continent near the southern pole that was comparable to medieval earth. By all accounts, they should never be made aware of the existence of the ship in orbit.

But Veyga was one of those planets where the Prime Directive became a fine line between practicality and hypocrisy.

It happened more often than one might think, and for a variety of reasons. In this case, it was a matter of location. The United Federation of Planets could do little to enforce its ideology on those worlds that had the misfortune of existing too near the border of the Klingon or Romulan empires. The Klingons in particular seemed to relish poking a thorn in the Federation's side by dropping in on border planets and announcing the existence of extraterrestrials. The Organian Peace Treaty prevented an all-out war, but the edge of the neutral zone was constantly in contention and Kirk privately believed that it was a cat and mouse game the Klingons played to amuse themselves.

It frustrated Kirk to no end, for those unfortunate worlds paid the price for interstellar peace.

Kirk sighed at the memory of Organia and Capella IV, and his hand tightened on his coffee cup with regret at the thought of Tyree's peaceful tribe. The simple fact of the matter was that once a world was compromised, Starfleet felt the Prime Directive was flexible enough to offer military protection in exchange for permission to use their world to establish a base. Planets with plant or mineral wealth were often bartered with. The spirit of the Prime Directive was still enforced, but the rules changed; damage was kept to a minimum and technology was concealed as much as possible. Veyga was one such world.

Diplomacy had arrived at an agreement with the Klingons, but first contact had been made. The damage was done, for the news had spread like wildfire across the planet despite their lack of technology. The Klingons had found nothing of value to them here except the planet's strategic location, and had ceded the world to the Federation upon being assured that no outpost would be established. It went without saying, however, that both sides had 'scientific' satellites orbiting the world. And while the unusual radiation of the star made long range communications difficult, there was no doubt whatsoever that the Klingons were aware of the presence of the Enterprise. If confronted, it was doubtful that they would believe their claim to be here for a trade agreement for a rare but fairly useless mineral.

For the Federation was not above making the most of an unfortunate incident to obtain this mineral, relatively common in the upper mantle of Veyga. When oxidized, the mineral produced a chemical that was vital in the manufacture of a pesticide that would prevent a newly settled Andorian colony from suffering famine. Such was the composition of the chemical that it could not be properly synthesized or replicated. There were other worlds available that could provide the compound, but there was some concern that these supplies would be depleted before the plant could be better tailored to its new home. It was not yet an emergency, but Starfleet was a firm believer in prevention and their mission here was to secure a trade agreement.

"Captain," Uhura called, interrupting his musing. She continued when Kirk glanced over his shoulder at her. "Mister Scott says the shuttle is ready, sir."

"Tell him we'll be right there," Kirk said, leaving his half empty coffee cup on the arm of the command chair as he stood and crossed the bridge to rest a hand on the helm. Sulu looked up at him with a resigned expression. "Mister Sulu, you have the con," Kirk said. "You know the drill. If something happens and you feel the Enterprise is in serious trouble, you get my ship out of here. Try to give us some warning, but don't let lack of communication stop you. We'll check in every two hours."

"Yes, sir," Sulu said unhappily, not looking away. He'd been forced to abandon his captain on several occasions, and he detested it.

"Mister Chekov," Spock called, and Kirk looked up as the young navigator instantly gave the Vulcan his full attention. "Please take over the science station and continue the analysis of the spectral variants."

"Aye, sair," Chekov said and swiftly left his seat. He cast a quick glance at the captain, and nearly blushed at the small, indulgent smile he got. It was quite flattering that Spock would entrust no one else to continue the study in his absence. He was peripherally aware of the secondary life sciences crewman sliding into the chair next to Sulu and Uhura murmuring into her mic for a replacement as he came up beside Mister Spock.

The Vulcan pointed at a display. "Pay particular attention to these frequencies."

Chekov nodded curtly. "Aye, aye, sair," he said, and leaned over the viewer the instant Spock had stepped away. The radiation had a peculiar effect on certain energy transmissions. Although the ensign was not quite as fascinated as the Vulcan, he would not shirk his assignment. The mere notion of disappointing Spock in any way was unthinkable.

Kirk joined McCoy in front of the turbolift and watched as Spock removed his tricorder from the small alcove under the science station where he had taken to storing it lately. Kirk sighed, because he knew he was being selfish. He had every confidence in his crew, so he was going to enjoy a breath of fresh air before dealing with Coleman despite the proximity of the Klingon Neutral zone. The Vulcan had long since given up objecting to the captain's preference for leading away teams personally whenever the whim struck him. It was a 'Kirk quirk', as McCoy had once put it.

And even though the first officer should remain in command should the captain deem it necessary to leave the ship (which would, in this instance, also allow him to continue studying the star), Spock had shown a distinct preference towards accompanying him whenever there was even the slightest hint of danger. Kirk knew he shouldn't allow it, but he'd lost track of how many times having the Vulcan at his side had made the difference between the success or failure of a mission. In fact, now that he thought about it, Kirk was pretty sure Spock and McCoy had made some kind of pact to never let the captain off the ship without at least one of them with him.

The thought made him grin suddenly, and Spock raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Captain," Uhura called just as he opened his mouth to make some sort of quip. "A message from Starfleet."

Kirk moved to stand behind her chair as she listened intently, her hands moving over the console in an effort to filter out the distortion. She looked up at him, pressing a delicate hand to the transceiver in her ear. "The Enterprise is ordered to divert to Spacestation K-3, to collect medical supplies and deliver it to an emergency medical ship en rout to Alpha Nimbi. An outbreak of Selrilian influenza. You are instructed to leave an away team here to begin talks."

Kirk did some quick navigational computations, estimating time and distances. He understood, on an intellectual level, that the recent loss of several of the Constitution-class ships in the fleet took time to replace. Starfleet took great pains to conceal the fact, but this left the Enterprise as the sole ship in this part of space that had the speed required. It was inefficient, but the mathematics were clear to the captain that it would be faster to draft his ship as a cargo shuttle rather than delay the slower medical ship by detouring it to the space station. Even so, however, this new turn of events was stretching the Enterprise even farther, and would push the timetable.

"That's a nasty bug, Jim," McCoy said, frowning in concern as he glanced between Kirk and Spock.

"Go with the ship, Bones," Kirk said, knowing his chief medical officer would want to oversee the process – and be available should the Enterprise herself end up joining the medical ship in aiding Nimbi. McCoy was clearly unhappy with this change of plans, but he didn't argue. Kirk looked back at Uhura. "Acknowledge our orders and inform Mister Scott."

She nodded and spoke quietly into her mic.

The captain considered the option of having a security officer join them in McCoy's place. His original intentions had been to bring as few people as possible, just himself, Spock, and McCoy. Not quite regulation, but it had become Kirk's habit when his ship was right in orbit. He glanced at Spock, but his first didn't make any suggestion, so Kirk decided that two people would be less intimidating.

Kirk looked back towards Sulu, and was pleased to see that the helmsman was already pressing controls. "Best speed, Mister Sulu, as soon as we're clear."

"Course plotted and laid in, sir," Sulu answered and looked over his shoulder to give Kirk a wry little smile. "We'll try to make sure we get back in three days."

"I'm sure Ambassador Coleman would appreciate that," Kirk answered, and didn't bother to keep the sour note out of his voice.

McCoy watched as the turbolift swallowed his friends and a foreboding premonition crept up his spine. He wasn't a superstitious man by nature, but it sure did seem like sending those two off by themselves was just tempting Fate. He sighed heavily and waited for the lift to return. He was going to have a very busy few days, and the sooner he got started the better.

Staying busy would help keep him from worrying.

_Space... the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds; to seek out new life and new civilizations; to boldly go where no man has gone before._


	2. Chapter 2

Kirk and Spock entered the bay just as Scott and his technicians removed the last of the scaffolding surrounding the Copernicus.

"Cap'n," Scott called when he spotted them and hurried over. He handed Kirk a communicator and a small phaser, which the captain attached to the belt tucked out of sight by the hem of his tunic. "I've done th' best I could with them, but I cannae make any guarantees about the phasers. The communicators'll work with each other on the surface, but ye'll need to use the shuttle to reach the ship." Scott heaved a weary sigh and passed Spock a set of the same devices, wishing he'd had more time to work on the problem. "Sensors are still a wee bit dodgy, but she'll get ye to the surface an' back again."

"You've earned your pay for the week, Scotty," Kirk said with a smile. "Now get some rest."

"Aye, that I will," Scott said with satisfaction. "Good luck down there," he added.

Kirk gave his chief engineer a friendly pat before making his way over to the waiting shuttle.

Kirk took the helm and Spock slid into the navigator's seat next to him. The captain ran his hands over the console, putting the shuttle through the standard pre-flight checklist. Despite his annoyance at the ambassador, the pressure of a tight deadline, and a niggling worry at the back of his mind that the Klingons would make a showing, he couldn't help but enjoy the rare opportunity to pilot. The shuttle arched away from the Enterprise, and the starship turned to head out of the system. A part of Kirk ached to see his ship go, but part of him couldn't help but be grateful that she was headed deeper into the relative safety of Federation space.

Veyga did not posses the technology required to communicate with them, let alone have the ability to scan their skies for approaching craft. The inhabitants were unaware of the Copernicus as it entered their atmosphere, for Kirk took a leisurely approach to ensure there was no flare of friction against the shields as they descended. They settled into a wide grassy field several kilometers from the largest settlement, and Spock sent one final subspace message to the Enterprise while Kirk cycled down the engines.

Kirk held up a hand to shade his eyes from the bright sunlight as they both walked down the shuttle's ramp. He squinted towards the mountains that could be seen in the distance, its snow-covered peaks disappearing into the clouds. Sensor readings were a bit vague, but that mountain range held the highest concentration of the mineral they were after. Kirk looked around the field as Spock secured the shuttle, enjoying the smell of living air. He took a deep breath and let it out with a satisfied smile. "I love the fresh clean smell of this place," he said.

Spock sampled the air. He detected the scent of moist earth and decaying foliage of the forest that surrounded the glade, and was at a loss as to how this could be described as either fresh or clean. Still, he knew that such things pleased his captain, and so he said nothing. He checked to see how his tricorder was faring and frowned slightly at the machine. Tricorders had more internal shielding than most other devices, but it was unfortunate that Mister Scott had not had sufficient time to calibrate at least one of them. It detected the life signs of the away team and the presence of the shuttle well enough, and he supposed that would have to serve for now.

They kept a wary eye on their surroundings as they waded through the thigh-high grass covering the field and entered the shade of the trees, but they encountered no one. The sun was low on the horizon by the time they emerged again. Kirk led the way onto a paved road that curved along the edge of the tree line, and they followed this for a short distance until they reached the city their sensors had detected from orbit. It was encircled by a thick stone wall, with armed guards peering down at them from the ramparts. The wide gates were unbarred, however, and so Kirk decided to simply stay on the road.

Not surprisingly, and as was often the case, the Klingons had not left a good impression on the Veygans. They had developed a fear of infiltration and invasion and, knowing this, Kirk had made no effort to hide their identity. The yellow and blue of their uniforms were a stark contrast to the muted browns and grays of the native attire and they were instantly noticed.

A guard halted them at the gate, staring at them with wide eyes. Kirk knew the species was humanoid, but there had been no images in the mission briefing. The guard was wearing a metal helmet that covered his ears and hair, limiting what Kirk could see, but the slant of his eyes gave him an oriental appearance and he had a bulbous nose with a thin, almost lipless mouth. He was a good foot taller than Spock, with a heavy frame that was at least twice as thick as the average human. The guard carried a long spear-like weapon, held upright with one end resting on the ground, and Kirk did not fail to notice his fingers tighten around it.

Spock shifted very slightly, and Kirk knew that his first officer had also noticed. The guard's attention moved from Kirk to the Vulcan, but the captain kept his gaze firmly locked on their greeter. The guard looked back at Kirk. Despite the nearly staggering diversity of life discovered so far in their little corner of the galaxy, it was amazing how similar body language was between them all. And Kirk had a certain knack for reading body language. The guard was scared, but determined to bravely stand his ground.

Kirk moved slowly, raising his open hands in what was an almost universally recognized gesture of peace. "We have come to speak with your leaders," he said calmly, stressing with his body and his voice that he was offering no threat.

The guard narrowed his eyes to slits. Before he could answer, however, another man emerged from the shadowy tunnel that led under the wall. His armor was more elaborate, and he trailed a dark green cloak behind him. He was even taller and stockier, and Kirk felt very small in comparison. The guard was obviously relieved as he moved to bow to the newcomer. He said something quickly, too low for Kirk to hear.

"I will take you to the Court of Law," the cloaked man said as the other resumed his position by the gate.

The group entered the tunnel, and Kirk noticed Spock peering intently upwards as they passed under the gate. Curious, Kirk looked up to see what was so interesting, but saw only a complex arrangement of gears that probably lowered the portcullis. They emerged from the tunnel and onto a wide road lined with buildings on both sides. Most were constructed of a rustic stone and plaster combination that Kirk found very charming, and he couldn't help a little smile as they walked down the center of the road.

The people that they passed stopped in their tasks and simply stared at the progression. Several ran off, no doubt to inform others. There were a lot of fearful faces peering at them from the crowd, and from hastily closed windows, and Kirk's smile faltered. It saddened him that this world's first experience with aliens had been so harsh. To their credit, the Klingons had done nothing violent. They had simply begun construction of a base, and had not cared about the effect of such a revelation on a culture steeped in superstition.

The group came to a sudden halt as the crowd made startled exclamations. Kirk looked around quickly, and saw that everyone around was staring up at the sky. He jerked his eyes heavenward just in time to see a shadow blot out the sun. He staggered backwards a step in surprise, bumping into Spock. In a rush of leathery wings, a large cream colored beast settled on the road in front of them with a clattering of claws on cobblestone. The animal stood on two thickly muscled legs, head lowered and wings spread wide in an impressive display that bracketed the rider.

"Fascinating," Spock said quietly.

"My Lord Rider," their guide called out as the beast folded its wings onto its back and shifted its weight from one leg to the other with a creak of leather harness. "These… outworlders seek an audience with the Keeper."

The rider removed his helmet and looked down at them, revealing sandy hair and rounded ears. He was much younger than either guard, but every bit as tall and powerfully muscled. "I see," the rider said, tilting his head to study them. He pursed his thin lips, then gave the beast a brief tap on the neck. There was no bridle or any other obvious means of controlling the animal, but it responded by dropping to one knee and lifting a wing up over its head. The rider ducked under the wing and stepped down onto the bent knee, dropping to the ground with an ease born of practice. It stood again and resettled its wings neatly onto its back, the saddle taking up residence in a natural gap across wide hips.

"What shall we call you, outworlders?" the rider asked with an easy smile.

Kirk instantly decided that he liked this man, and smiled warmly. "I'm Captain James T. Kirk," he replied. A moment passed in which the rider seemed to be expecting something else, probably a gesture, and so the captain held out his hand with a mental shrug. The rider looked down at it in confusion. Kirk smiled in encouragement, and the man slowly extended his own gloved hand. Kirk clasped it firmly and the man's eyes widened in surprise. Kirk suddenly wished he'd gone with standard procedure, because he had a feeling he'd just done something… lewd. Kirk released him, and the rider glanced down at his hand as Kirk turned to gesture at his companion. "Mister Spock, my first officer."

"And I am Rider Trin," the man said quickly before Spock had a chance to reply. He gestured at the beast. "This is Peth, my—" the universal translator was so effective at what it did that it was only when the thing failed that Kirk ever remembered it existed. It sputtered a moment before finally spitting out, "—dragon."

Kirk blinked in surprise, and glanced at Spock just long enough to catch the raised eyebrow. "Dragon?" he repeated.

Trin stiffened, lifting his chin with slightly affronted pride. "Peth is the smartest dragon alive," he said, with an almost defensive edge to his voice.

Kirk waved both hands, realizing that Trin had completely misinterpreted his disbelief. "No, no," Kirk said quickly. "Our language translator is having some… difficulty." He smiled, and Trin seemed to relax slightly. "It gave me the word of an animal that exists only in very old legends where I come from."

"Oh," Trin said, glancing between Kirk and Spock as though making sure he was not somehow being mocked. "Well, Peth is no legend. Not yet."

Kirk decided that the rider had a very high regard for his mount, and so he studied the… the dragon with open appreciation. Kirk had an eye for horses, and he couldn't help but admire the excellent proportions of this animal. The dragon had the general build of a raptor, but with wings instead of arms or forelegs. The muscles stretched across the broad chest were well defined, moving smoothly under leathery hide as Peth preened under the scrutiny. A long tail was equal in length to a slender neck, making a pleasant balance. Peth stared back at him in a manner that made him feel as though he was being examined just as thoroughly in return.

"Hello, Peth," he said cordially, looking the beast right in the eye, for he wanted to make up for the inadvertent insult.

Peth blinked, a quick flicker of its eyelids over narrow, catlike irises. Kirk tilted his head to look upwards as it adjusted its bulk and towered over him. He lifted an arm in a silent command without taking his eyes off the dragon, and the back of his hand brushed against Spock's chest as the Vulcan took a step closer to his side. Spock went still, but Kirk could practically feel the tension radiating from his first officer.

A leathery wing descended, and Kirk forced himself to stand calmly. The wing adjusted, tilted, and Kirk saw that the tip ended in three delicate claws. These were being extended to him, and Kirk blinked in surprise. He carefully reached out and wrapped his hand around the slender claws, giving it the same shake as he had for the rider. Peth retracted the wing and turned its large, equine head to regard Spock.

Spock flicked a glance at Kirk, and then raised his hand, fingers parted in the Vulcan gesture. "Greetings, Peth."

The dragon narrowed its eyes, studying Spock's hand, before turning to regard its own wing as though trying to determine if it was possible for the appendage to make the same gesture. It clearly was not, and the dragon let out a loud snort that ruffled Spock's hair before stretching out a claw to the Vulcan.

Kirk tried to hide his smile as Spock solemnly shook hands with the dragon.

Peth's eyes squinted at them, jaws parting to reveal very large, serrated teeth, as it resettled its wings and turned to look at Trin with a coy curving of its neck. The man was blushing several shades of crimson. Kirk glanced at the armored guard, who was staring at all of them with a very blank expression. Kirk decided to let the next people they met offer greetings first.

"If you're quite finished, Peth," Trin growled, and the dragon's jaws gaped even wider. The rider was obviously mortified by his dragon's behavior, and turned away to lead them deeper into the city.

It was only a few moments before Kirk noticed that Peth was pacing him stride for stride, edging closer with each step. The beast was at least twice the size of the largest horse Kirk had ever seen, and that much muscled bulk walking beside him was somewhat disturbing. He looked up, and saw that the dragon was peering down at him. Their eyes met, and it lowered its head down to Kirk's level to blink one eye lazily at him before lifting it high again.

The dragon had just winked at him.

"Peth!" Trin gasped, scandalized, and any thought that maybe he'd misinterpreted the gesture was obliterated. "Captain, please ignore her. She's…" Trin paused, as if totally lost for words to explain his dragon's behavior.

Kirk chose to completely ignore Spock's almost inaudible sigh.

Trin thumped the dragon on the shoulder, shoving her away with a grunt of effort. Peth's jaws parted and she squinted at the man before obediently giving Kirk a decent amount of space. A low rumble issued from her throat, and Kirk got the distinct impression that Peth found the entire situation very entertaining. Kirk mentally adjusted his thinking as they walked, for it was obvious that he had misjudged the dragon's level of sentience.

It was not long before they reached a large stone building, grandly standing several stories taller than any other, and surrounded by its own walls. The presence of Trin and Peth in the lead seemed to be enough to prevent anyone from stopping them, and two guards ran out to open the heavy double doors as they approached. The doors were closed behind them with a loud clang that had an almost ominous sound to it, and Trin waved a dismissive hand at the unnamed, cloaked man.

"Inform the Savant," Trin said. The guard narrowed his eyes unhappily, but bowed once to Trin. He hesitated a moment before offering a bow to Kirk, and hurried off.

Trin led the group into what looked like a throne room. The Starfleet officers looked around in curiosity, taking in the high ceiling and marbled floor. The room was unfurnished but for a raised dais with five chairs set prominently at the far end. Life-sized statues were arranged in niches carved into the otherwise unadorned walls, and several balconies overlooked the chamber from the second floor. Kirk was impressed by the Court of Law.

Within minutes, an elderly man joined them, draped in thick, dark blue robes and carrying a gnarled wooden staff. He was scrawny in comparison to the four guards that accompanied him, but still much larger than the visitors. "Rider Trin," he greeted as he neared them, but he was looking at the away team.

Kirk kept his mouth closed and his hands at his side, and Peth's jaws parted with what he was beginning to realize was a dragonish grin as she made that rumbling noise again.

The old man's eyes snapped to the dragon, and Peth instantly went still. "Silence, youngling! You've been causing me far too much trouble since the moment you were hatched," he grumbled, flicking an irritated glance at Trin as though the man himself had been the first problem. Dragon and rider bowed their heads as if chastised, but shared a quick look of fond amusement the moment their elder looked back at Kirk.

"So what new trouble have you brought today?" he asked, apparently addressing Trin but examining Kirk.

"Captain James T. Kirk and First Officer Spock, here to seek audience with the Keeper," Trin answered as though announcing them to a king.

The old man wrapped his other hand around his staff, leaning onto it with a sigh as he studied them. Kirk returned the scrutiny with a silent look of determination, and this seemed to meet with approval. He held an open hand out to Kirk, then closed it into a fist and drew it to his chest. "I am the Savant of the Keeper. You may speak."

"I represent the United Federation of Planets," Kirk began. "I have been sent to discuss the possibility of trade with your world."

The Savant blinked at him, his face expressionless. "And what if I said no, right now?"

"Then we would be very disappointed," Kirk answered honestly, "but leave in peace."

The Savant narrowed his eyes at Kirk for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. "I believe you," he said and straightened. Kirk felt a wave of relief wash over him, for the first hurdle was often the most difficult. "It will take some time to convene the entire Council, for they will no doubt all want a say in a matter such as this," the Savant continued. "Several are abroad, so I wouldn't expect a meeting until morning. Until then, allow us to offer the hospitality of the Court." He pointed at Trin. "Take them to the guest suits," he ordered, and Trin's eyes went wide with surprise. "Yes, you, idiot," the Savant snapped with an irritable tap of the staff on the stone floor before using it to poke Peth in the ribs. The dangerous sounding rumble of the dragon was belied by the gaping jaws as she allowed the frail old man to prod her closer to her rider, and the Savant gave them both a quick smile before turning away.

"Yes, my Lord Savant," Trin said hastily, but the Savant and his entourage were already leaving them.

Trin looked up at Peth, and the dragon's wings lifted in a shrug. "Well," the rider said, turning to Kirk and Spock. "Let's get you sorted for the night."


	3. Chapter 3

They were led out into a broad courtyard and Kirk inhaled the scent of fresh cut grass with appreciation, for it smelled exactly like his uncle's old farm. Tall lamps were interspersed evenly along the stone paths that branched in several directions, just far enough apart for the soft pools of their light to touch each other in the darkness. Kirk looked up at the starry sky as they followed the dragon and rider down one of the paths, noting that full night had fallen.

The larger of Veyga's two moons lit the area with gilded silver, but the smaller was half in the shadow of its companion. It was a fine display, but he wasn't able to fully appreciate it. He felt somehow exposed, knowing that his ship was not up there to be called upon at a moment's notice, and scanned the area with keen scrutiny as they walked. He couldn't say why, but there was a little shiver of unease making the skin at the back of his neck prickle.

Beside him, Spock frowned slightly as he noted his captain's disquiet. His hand moved to rest on the tricorder at his hip, but it was standard procedure to avoid using equipment when in the presence of natives on missions like this.

Trin led them to a small stone and plaster cottage, one of several that were clustered at the opposite end of the courtyard. Peth tucked her legs up under her and settled to the ground with a huge yawn, and Trin gave her an affectionate pat before gesturing for them to wait while he went inside. Within moments, a glow of light spilled over the threshold of the doorway and the rider's voice called to them inside The main room's furnishings were somewhat Victorian in style, with a lot of polished wood and brass accents. A carved wooden dining table took up a hefty portion of the space nearest the door, surrounded by sturdy, padded chairs. Four leather-covered armchairs were arranged before a large, unlit fireplace on the other side of the room.

"The sleeping chamber is through there," Trin said, pointing at a closed door set between the two halves of the main room. He hesitated a moment, as though unsure how to word his next question. "Do you require separate accommodations?"

Kirk leaned forward to peer at a delicately sculpted figure of a dragon carved out of some kind of glossy stone and shook his head. It was evening on the planet, but still morning by ship's time. He'd be tired, but he'd found that the fastest way to adjust to the planet's cycle would be to wait to sleep until the following night. Spock probably wouldn't sleep at all until they got back to the ship; that was just his way.

"As you wish," Trin replied. "I'll order refreshments brought to you. Is there anything you need?"

Spock tilted his head at Trin. "Have you some fine tools I might borrow, for detailed work?"

Trin nodded eagerly. "Of course. I will have them sent to you with your meal. Anything else?"

Kirk glanced up at Spock, but the Vulcan said nothing more. "No, and thank you."

Trin smiled and left, letting the wooden door begin to swing closed under its own weight. "Up, you lazy beast! You're going to get me in trouble, you know that?" The door clicked shut, cutting off the sound of rustling wings and deep rumbling.

Spock instantly had his tricorder out, the familiar sound of it filling the room.

"Something wrong, Spock?" his captain asked, moving to stand close enough to peer at the readings on the tiny display.

"I do not believe so," Spock answered and Kirk relaxed. "However, I suspect that the survey team incorrectly categorized this society in terms of social development and technology."

"How so?" Kirk asked, frowning.

Spock made an adjustment to the tricorder, his eyebrows furrowing slightly with just a hint of frustration. He turned without answering and headed into the adjoining room, knowing that Kirk would follow. A very large wooden bed dominated the room, piled high with plush coverings and pillows. Two chairs and a couch, all overly padded for Spock's tastes, were arranged in one corner, facing another fireplace. Spock passed all this, heading straight for another door. This opened into an opulent bathing room, a massive stone tub taking up very nearly half of the space. Wooden cabinets ran the opposite length of the room, topped by a counter made of the same marbled stone as the tub. He knelt to open a cupboard under the counter and leveled the tricorder at the plumbing this exposed.

Kirk crouched beside him as he studied the scrambled readout intently. "Spock?"

"The tricorder is functioning slightly better now that the planet is shielding us somewhat from the sun," Spock answered. "But it is still difficult to scan properly." He ran his fingers over one of the pipes. "This is an extremely refined metal, Captain, far more so than I would have thought this primitive society capable of." His captain frowned, narrowing his eyes at the suspicious pipe. "Additionally," Spock added, "the mechanisms used at the city's gate utilize gears that are too thin to be adequate unless they are constructed of a considerably more refined alloy than a society at this technological level should be able to produce."

Kirk remembered the last time he'd found a culture using metal alloys far beyond their ability. He looked up, his muscles tensing, but Spock was already shaking his head. "Unless the Klingons have been influencing this planet for over a century, it is not likely that they are involved in this enigma," he said. "This plumbing is at least that old, possibly older."

"A puzzle, Mister Spock," Kirk muttered as he rose. "See if you can find out more. I'm going to take a look around."

Spock nodded his understanding and continued to study his tricorder as Kirk left the room. Several minutes passed as he adjusted a few controls on the machine, but there was little he could do without the tools that had been left in the shuttle in favor of traveling lightly.

Kirk's voice drifted to him through the open door and Spock instantly silenced the tricorder. His fingers brushed unconsciously against his phaser as he stood, for although his captain's voice was calm and steady, there was an edge to it. He could detect no sounds from the bedroom, and lowered his mental shielding to make certain that no one was lying in wait. He slipped through the room, and the voices became clear enough to discern words as he crept up to the door. It was open just slightly, and he leaned forward to listen carefully through the gap.

"Very well," his captain said. His tone was polite, but there was a note of displeasure lurking just beneath the words. "Spock."

Spock straightened at the summons, and pushed the door open the rest of the way. He quickly scanned the room as he took his place at his captain's side. The same cloaked guard that had escorted them to the Court of Law was standing in front of Kirk, helmet tucked under his arm, while three young women were removing several dishes from large platters that had been set on the table.

The guard glanced at Spock, his gaze flickering uneasily at the upswept eyebrows and pointed ears, and lingering on the alien coloring of his skin. He gave Kirk a little bow, barely more than a nod, and turned to leave without another word. There were two armored soldiers visible on either side of the door before it swung closed behind him. Spock decided that it was the presence of their new guards that was upsetting his captain, though he could not believe Kirk had not expected such an action.

"Excuse me, miss?" Kirk said, gently taking the nearest of the serving girls by the sleeve to get her attention.

The girl jumped, nearly dropping a plate laden with meat nestled on a bed of leafy greens. "My l-lord?" she stammered, carefully setting the dish on the table. The other two continued their work, but watched out of the corners of their eyes.

"Who was that man?" Kirk asked, giving her a smile. "What's his name?"

"Lord Varen, my lord," she answered very quietly. Kirk raised his eyebrows, trying to encourage her. She glanced at her companions, who had finished and were each holding a large silver tray. Despite being taller and obviously stronger than the Starfleet officers, they were clearly fearful. One held her tray in both hands, as if it were a shield, and kept glancing at the front door. The other turned her tray nervously in her hands as her eyes darted constantly between Kirk and Spock. The girl turned back and hesitated.

"He's a guard?" Kirk prompted.

She nodded. "He is Captain of the Guard, my lord," she whispered nervously.

All three looked like they were about to bolt, so Kirk decided not to press her for any more information and released her. "Thank you," he said.

The other two girls drifted cautiously towards the door while she removed the last plate and from the tray and set it on the table with the others. She picked up the silver tray and looked down at Kirk, her fingers moving restlessly over the edge of the polished metal. "My lord?" she asked hesitantly, and the surprise of the others made it clear that she was being rather daring.

"Yes?" Kirk answered, giving her another smile. She was a bit more… buxom than he generally found attractive, but she was so utterly charming in her shyness that he just couldn't help it.

She leaned in closer to him, her lips brushing against his ear. "I would not trust him, my lord," she whispered too quietly for the others to hear. She smiled as though she was flirting, but her eyes were wide with fear, and her hand was trembling when she raised it to press the inside of her wrist to her forehead as she bowed deeply. Then she whirled away in a flurry of skirts, a cascade of dark ringlets falling over her shoulders as she cast one final glance back and followed the other two past the guards.

Kirk frowned once the door had closed, beginning to think there was something very odd going on. There was something about that man that set his teeth on edge. He glanced at Spock, who was watching him with that intent gaze of his, and Kirk knew that Spock had heard her. He sighed unhappily, recalling Coleman's parting words, and wished that just once a mission would go without incident. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment, however, and the pleasant smells wafting from the table was reminding him that he hadn't taken time for breakfast. His eyes roamed over the offerings as Spock moved away to study something. He wondered if any of it was actually edible for humans.

"Fascinating," Spock murmured quietly, and Kirk looked over. The Vulcan was examining a frosted glass sphere hung from a wooden hanger on the wall, its soft glow one of several that lit the room from different corners. Kirk frowned, only then noticing that the light was too steady to be the flame of a candle, even shielded. "Captain," Spock said, not looking away as he raised the tricorder to the lamp. "This is biological illumination."

Both of Kirk's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he moved to stand beside Spock. Upon closer inspection, the globe wasn't frosted at all but was covered in a layer of mossy growth. It glowed with a sort of pearly softness, and Kirk blinked in surprise when Spock absently brushed aside the hand that Kirk hadn't even been aware was reaching out to touch it. Kirk quickly hid his look of embarrassment, for he instantly realized the foolishness of his own action. For all he knew, the stuff was poisonous, acidic, toxic, burning hot, or any number of harmful things.

He needn't have bothered with trying to cover up the lapse, though, for Spock hadn't even looked up from his tricorder. It wasn't the first time Spock had stopped Kirk's impulsive inclination to touch things, and it most likely wouldn't be the last – in fact, it was now habit. "The bioluminescent life-form feeding on the surface of the sphere is harmless," Spock said after a moment, looking up from the tricorder to tilt his head at the lamp.

Kirk took that as permission, and gently stroked the moss. He jerked his hand back in surprise, and Spock's eyes widened in alarm. "I'm all right," Kirk quickly reassured him, reaching back out. There was a very faint tingle against his skin that he'd at first taken as extreme cold, but after a few moments it was more like a pleasant warmth. He ran his fingers over the pebbled surface of the globe, marveling at the texture. It didn't feel at all like it looked. It felt like beads of water that had been frozen into a thin sheet of ice, except that the beads moved and flexed under his fingers in a way that ice never would. He'd never felt anything like it, and grinned at Spock in delight.

The Vulcan hesitated in a moment of indecisiveness, then flicked a quick, almost guilty glance at Kirk before cautiously brushing his fingertips over the surface. Kirk was aware that Vulcans had something like three times as many nerve endings in their hands as most other humanoid species, and wasn't surprised when Spock's eyes slid half closed with that same content expression he got when petting a soft furry animal like a cat or tribble. Touch was something that Spock seldom indulged in, as though it were some kind of sinfully decadent pleasure. Kirk didn't understand why – he didn't know if it was a Vulcan thing or just a Spock thing – but whatever the case, he always felt a little privileged to be witness to the few times his friend treated himself. Kirk's grin widened, and Spock removed his hand with a self conscious glance at his captain.

Kirk turned back to the table as Spock looked down at the tricorder again. "It is a type of fungus, drawing heat from the atmosphere for energy and converting some of it into light as a by-product," Spock explained.

Kirk nodded absently as he looked over the offerings again. He noticed a bundle set near the edge of the table. "Spock," he said as he reached to pick it up. "This must be for you." Kirk unrolled the bundle to reveal many small tools of various descriptions stored in narrow pouches.

"Indeed," Spock said as he took the roll from him and examined it. "This should prove more than adequate." He ran his tricorder over the food, repeating the process several times to make certain that the machine was not missing anything. "Nothing is harmful, but I would suggest avoiding the red vegetable, Captain," he finally said, tapping a finger at a plate full of them and gesturing at a couple dishes that seemed to contain the same item.

Kirk nodded his thanks as Spock moved away to settle his lanky frame into one of the overstuffed armchairs that had a small table next to it. The furnishings were obviously designed for much larger people, and his feet dangled above the floor. Kirk watched him for a moment, curious, as the Vulcan selected one of the tiny tools and began to dismantle his tricorder.

Spock looked up, as if he somehow sensed Kirk looking at him. "I believe I can increase the accuracy of my tricorder under these conditions, although it is likely to shorten the range by a considerable margin," he explained, before returning his attention to the machine.

Kirk felt a little smile tug at his mouth as he watched him for a moment longer. He was starting to think Spock's tricorder was probably not even a tricorder any more, compared to the rest of the machines in Starfleet. It was a super-tricorder. His smile widened at the thought as he picked up a plate from the table, found what looked like a fork, and took a seat on one of the thickly padded dining chairs.

"You are forbidden to tell McCoy about the dragon," he said as he speared something that looked like broccoli and took a cautious nibble.

"The doctor is as free to read the mission report as any other ranking officer," Spock commented without looking up from his task.

"I mean it, Spock," Kirk said.

"If you insist."

"I insist," Kirk retorted. "I'll never live it down."

The Vulcan allowed a small sigh, looking up to level a somewhat reproving gaze at Kirk. "Your attentions _were_ somewhat overt."

Kirk waved his fork, hastily swallowing. "I swear, I thought she was like a horse. We haven't encountered a single civilization to date where it wasn't a good idea to compliment a man's means of transportation if he was obviously proud of it," he said. Spock said nothing, and Kirk sighed. "I can't help it if she… took it the wrong way."

"Need I remind you, Captain," Spock said, and Kirk paused in the act of putting a few chunks of the not-broccoli onto his plate to look over at him. Spock did not say _again_, but the word hung in the air as he paused as if to emphasize its absence. "Homo sapiens have an unparalleled flair for turning anything into a sexual innuendo, but they are not unique in this illogical ability. I suspect your manner of greeting has certain connotations in this culture."

Kirk set his fork on the table with great care. In retaliation for that insult against his diplomatic skills, Kirk stared at Spock and deliberately plucked one of the chunks of vegetable off his plate with his fingers and popped it into his mouth, for no other reason than because he knew the Vulcan considered it uncivilized to eat with ones hands.

Spock's chin tilted just so, and one eyebrow rose just so, and he somehow managed to radiate scathing condescension.

Kirk clenched his teeth to keep from spewing not-broccoli all over his first officer and laughed through his nose. "Well, at least she has good taste," Kirk said around the mouthful, and went back to his meal.

Spock watched as Kirk cautiously prodded something that looked like a shellfish of some kind as though uncertain if it was dead and suppressed a twinge of revulsion. He returned to his project without comment, attempting to recall why he had signed aboard a ship full of savages.

Kirk didn't eat much – the food might not be dangerous, but he'd found out the hard way that didn't always mean it would agree with his digestion. He'd developed an iron stomach during his youth and his service to Starfleet, but every now and again something would just not go well. Such things couldn't always be predicted, so he settled for a bite or two of most of the offerings.

He covered the dishes when he'd had his fill before moving them to the center of the table and glanced at Spock. He suspected that with the discovery of a new form of radiation that Spock had probably neglected to tend to such unimportant things like eating and sleeping. Ever since that whole business with T'Pring, Kirk had made a very private vow to never again fail to notice the Vulcan go off his feed, for any reason. He wasn't going to push the issue, though. Not yet, anyway.

The idea of waiting until dawn with nothing to do was frustrating, and Kirk was pacing restlessly within the hour.

Spock ignored it as best he could, concentrating instead on completing his adaptations to the tricorder. The sooner he could get it functioning more accurately, the sooner he could better assist in unraveling the mystery of Veyga. It was with some relief to him when Kirk discovered a bookcase in the bedroom, returning with a leather-bound paper tome. The text could not be read, of course, but it was illustrated and Kirk settled onto a chair across the room to flip through its pages.

Kirk had resumed his pacing by the time Spock set the tool he was using on the table. He ran the tricorder through a self diagnosis and was pleased with the results. Something of that must have been evident to the captain, for Kirk paused in his pacing to look at him with curiosity. Spock's first target was the luminescent fungi. The tricorder had to be within centimeters of the lamp for the best readings, but Spock was satisfied with the detail. "As I suspected, this organism is bio-engineered."

"What?" Kirk barked in disbelief. "How is that possible?"

"Captain," Spock answered, tilting his head in thought. "It would be logical to assume that the radiation from the sun would seriously hamper the discovery of electricity on this world, and the development of sciences related to it."

Kirk frowned in thought. "Leaving them to take more organic routs of technology?"

Spock nodded. "I suspect we will find that metallurgy, botany, and animal husbandry to be far more advanced than we had first assumed, yet the techniques used will, by necessity, be incongruously primitive."

"Well, that's logical, but…" Kirk paused, and gestured at the lamp. "Bio-engineering?"

"Not impossible to do without electronic devices," Spock answered. "But very difficult and time consuming. The species was most likely already inclined to be luminescent, possibly a fungus originally native to caves. But it has been genetically modified, of that there is no doubt."

Generally speaking, Starfleet rated civilizations based upon their technological achievements. Technology and culture almost always advanced hand in hand, for it seldom occurred that a species would survive if its science advanced faster than its ability to adapt culturally. Space was riddled with the remains of civilizations that had snuffed themselves out, one way or another – almost always as a result of misusing their own science.

The star of Veyga was going to have to change how the Federation viewed this world. Even without modifications, their own equipment was shielded against the unpredictable spikes of radiation from the sun and could function on some level. But the initial discoveries and advancements common to every civilization would never have had a chance here. It was becoming clear to the captain that their mission had just become two fold - for now they were reassessing the planet's cultural rating.

Spock shut off the tricorder and set it on the table. "I believe—"

Both men staggered backwards as the door exploded inwards with the sound of splintering wood, and they turned in shock as a deafening roar shook the cottage.


	4. Chapter 4

As large as Kirk might have thought Peth to be, the dragon that was struggling to get its broad shoulders past what remained of the doorway was at least twice that size. The enormous head that swung in their direction and snapped its jaws at them was heavily armored across the muzzle and eye ridges, a silvery metal that contrasted sharply with the nearly ebony hide. There was no other door that led to the outside and the only windows in the room were both far too close to the dragon, its neck weaving to and fro as a dozen fissures raced along the wall in a spider web of cracking plaster.

There was no sign of the soldiers that had been on guard, and Kirk could only assume they would be of no help. He went for his phaser even as he saw Spock glance at the table that held his tricorder. He grabbed the Vulcan's arm and hauled him back before he could even _think_ about going after it. They fell against the wall as the entire front half of the cottage crumbled and the dragon was suddenly upon them.

A clamor of bells began ringing in the distance.

Kirk's phaser made a peculiar noise and the color of the beam was a pale glow of what it should be as it struck the dragon square on the nose. It reared back in surprise and bashed its head on the ceiling, but the weapon itself seemed to have no effect. The dragon blinked in confusion for a moment, then drunkenly staggered towards them.

"Remind me to fire Scotty!" Kirk shouted over a furious roar as he pushed at the door behind him.

"Aye, sir," Spock acknowledged calmly as they fled into the bedroom.

There was a stained-glass window beside the bed, which Spock pushed upwards before setting about figuring out the latches that kept the exterior shutters closed. Kirk slammed the door closed on another bellow mingled with the sound of splintering furniture. Spock spared him a brief glance of disbelief as he crossed over to him, tucking away his useless phaser. Kirk had no idea how clever a concussed dragon might be, so he figured it was worth a shot. The entire building shuddered and the door was torn from its hinges instantly. The wall around it was already beginning to buckle. The wooden shutters swung open and Kirk shoved at Spock's back before the Vulcan could attempt to suggest his captain go first.

A frustrated bellow from the dragon followed on his heels as he dropped to the dew-laden lawn beside Spock, but there was no time to look back and check the beast's progress. A man clad in riding leathers similar to Trin's in all detail save the darkened color emerged from the shadowy night, and raised what looked very much like a crossbow - but he did not train it on the building behind them.

Kirk lurched forward into a charge that was clearly unexpected, for the man hesitated as he tried to decide who to shoot. His shoulder barreled into the mountain of a man, and Kirk bounced backward with a grunt of surprise to land on his backside. The man's short bark of laughter was cut off by a well placed nerve pinch, and the sound of his body hitting the ground was drowned out by the roar of the roof collapsing behind them. He looked up at Spock, blinking to clear his vision as a cloud of plaster dust drifted over them.

Spock peered down at him, one eyebrow raised. "An interesting tactic, Captain."

Kirk got to his feet quickly and resisted the urge to rub his sore shoulder. "I just needed to buy you a second or two, Mister Spock."

"Indeed. Quite logical," Spock said, and for the life of him Kirk couldn't tell whether or not the Vulcan was joking. Both looked over as the fallen timbers of the cottage shifted as the dragon struggled to free itself, and Kirk couldn't help but be impressed by the strength of the creature. "May I suggest we proceed with all due haste, sir?" Spock added serenely.

Kirk made a little a bow and a sweeping gesture of gallantry. "After you, Mister Spock."

The corners of Spock's eyes crinkled just a fraction before his first officer turned to lead the way with a long-legged lope. Kirk took a moment to brush his hand across the seat of his pants to rid himself of the grass clippings he knew were ruining whatever dignity he had remaining before breaking into a jog to catch up.

They were almost there when a swarm of soldiers poured out of the large door that opened into the courtyard. Kirk and Spock both paused, uncertain of who was friend or foe, but the soldiers were aiming their crossbows into the sky. Spock looked up at the sound of beating wings, but some instinct prompted Kirk to hurl himself at the Vulcan and bring them both to the ground. Not fast enough, however. Kirk's breath was knocked out of him in an explosion of pain in his chest, and the world whirled around him as he struggled to get back to his knees.

"Captain," he heard Spock's voice, low and urgent.

Whatever else Spock said was drowned out as a deafening scream sounded from right above him, and Kirk looked up as he struggled to breathe. It was as if his lungs had forgotten how to draw in air. A massive dragon, its dark hide all but invisible against the night sky, was towering over them. It was saddled and armored but riderless, and even larger than the one that had brought down the cottage. It screamed again as a pale dragon, smaller by more than half and unarmored, clung to its back and sank sharp teeth into its thick neck.

The black dragon swung around sharply, distracted from its intended quarry, and snapped at its clinging burden. A powerful tail swept over Kirk's head, and the smaller dragon was flung to the ground. It struggled where it landed, one wing pinned beneath its body. A pale blur blotted out Kirk's field of vision as another, much larger, dragon set upon their attacker.

Kirk gasped as strong arms locked around his chest and pulled him out from under the thrashing claws. He wrapped an arm around Spock's waist and used the Vulcan as leverage to haul himself upright. His lungs finally kicked in with a bright flair of agony, painting stars across his vision, and he would have fallen again if Spock hadn't gotten a firm grip on him. A shriek of pain drew Kirk's attention, and he turned in time to see that the smaller dragon had joined the larger against the dark attacker. Spock was shouting something in his ear, but he couldn't hear him over the noise of the leviathans fighting over their heads. Kirk shook his head in frustration, and Spock gave up trying to communicate. He grabbed Kirk's arm and pulled him towards the Court.

He ran beside Spock, each step sending a jolt of pain through his chest. He was pretty sure he'd bruised at least two ribs, but considered himself fortunate that nothing seemed broken. Several dark dragons were in the courtyard, but the initial surprise had passed. Light-skinned dragons were dropping out of the sky, the gold of their armor catching the moonlight, and the courtyard quickly became a mass of writhing, bellowing bodies.

Something small whizzed past him and disappeared into the darkness.

Kirk looked over his shoulder to find the source, but Spock tightened his grip and began moving with a speed that was almost impossible to keep up with. They were less than a meter from the enticing arch of the open double doors when Kirk staggered under an impact. Fire erupted between his shoulder blades, and a startled grunt of pain escaped him without his permission. Momentum carried them the rest of the way, with Spock practically dragging Kirk into the shelter of the doorway.

Kirk caught up against the wall, panting. He felt hands on his back and the warm trickle of blood down his spine, but his mind was a blur of confusion. He looked out into the carnage, hugging his arms protectively about his chest and trying not to breathe too heavily. He scanned the battle, looking for their small defender. He didn't know if it was Peth, but something told him it was. He breathed a sigh of relief, for there was no sign of her, which meant she hadn't been too injured or stupid to leave the fight once Kirk and Spock had escaped. No one dragon should be more important than any other, but it was the natural order of things to be more concerned for those you knew. He suspected that Peth was very young, because every other dragon in the battle was at least twice her size.

"Captain," Spock said urgently, probably not for the first time, but Kirk didn't reply. He was mesmerized by the sight before him, for the battle was waning even as he watched. A heavily armored dragon bearing a man in dull black armor had alighted on the stone wall encircling the Court, and a series of short barks from the beast was evidently a signal. Dark bodies lifted into the night sky, retreating.

His legs were no longer inclined to bear his weight. Numbness was spreading through his limbs, and it only then occurred to him that he'd been poisoned.

"Captain!" Spock said again, failing to suppress a note of alarm as Kirk slid down the wall. Spock flung the dart he had removed to one side, and knelt to press his fingers into his captain's throat to check for his pulse. It fluttered against his fingertips far too swiftly for a human, and Kirk's eyes were unfocused before closing.

"Spock!" Trin's voice called out, forgoing all pretenses of rank, and the Vulcan's head jerked around to see the rider sprinting down the corridor, bare feet slapping on the stone flooring. He skidded to a halt before him, out of breath, and looked anxiously out at the courtyard.

"My captain requires immediate medical attention," Spock said quickly, his foremost thoughts of the tricorder left abandoned in the ruined cottage, and of the medical kit several kilometers away in the shuttle.

"Hurry," Trin said, casting another worried glance into the courtyard before gesturing Spock farther into the recesses of the building.

Kirk gasped in pain, half unconscious, as Spock lifted him in a fireman's carry. There was little recourse, however, and Spock's mouth thinned into a grim line as he ran after Trin. They were soon in the main chamber of the Court, and Trin made a quick gesture for Spock to remain where he was before disappearing down a corridor. Spock laid his captain out on the floor, watching his face for any sign of awareness but not receiving any. Trin returned with an elderly woman dressed in nothing more than a soft, plain shift, her hair in disarray as though woken abruptly. She was clutching a plain cloth bag to her chest as Trin pushed her towards Spock.

"I must see to Peth," the rider said anxiously, but waited for Spock's nod before fleeing into another corridor.

"What has happened?" the woman asked as she knelt beside Kirk, setting the bag on the floor.

"A dart, which must have had a poison coating," Spock replied, kneeling beside her.

She looked up at him in alarm. "Quickly, now," the woman said. "Describe the feathers!"

Spock recalled the image. It was a stone arrowhead, rather primitive in appearance except for the fact that it was exquisitely carved with minute engravings. Illogical, to expend such effort on a missile that was likely to be used only once. It was attached to a small wooden shaft made of a very dark wood painted with silver bands, with tiny feathers at the end to help it maintain balance in flight. "Two black, one yellow," Spock answered.

The woman's expression was not reassuring before she blanked it into a look of medical professionalism. "Sit him up," she instructed as she opened her bag and began rummaging through its contents.

Spock instantly moved to obey, propping Kirk up against his chest. He was alarmed by the amount of blood that seeped into the sleeve of his tunic as he stretched his arm across Kirk's back to keep him upright, staining the blue a dark purple. The wound was too small to be bleeding this much; the toxin must have an anti-clotting agent.

The woman pulled out a small glass vial of brown liquid and removed the cork stopper. Spock was certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that this attack had been nothing less than an assassination attempt against his captain. The idea of allowing this unknown woman to administer an unknown potion to him was extremely unappealing, but there was little choice. His captain was appallingly pale and still and Spock had no doubt that the toxin was intended to be lethal. And so Spock allowed her to tip Kirk's chin back and press the rim of the bottle to his lips until it was empty. She quickly covered his mouth and nose with her hand until Kirk swallowed convulsively, coughing.

Spock looked up sharply at the sound of many footsteps, his face turning unerringly toward one of the corridors that branched off of this main chamber. The Savant himself emerged, running with more speed than Spock would have granted possible for a man of his advanced age. His white hair trailed behind him in a long plait, and he had lifted the hem of his robe around his knees as he ran. Several men in armored uniform chased after him.

"There you are!" the Savant exclaimed as he stopped beside the three of them huddled on the floor, breathing heavily, and his guards instantly moved to form a defensive circle around them. "Are you injured?"

"Atartha dart," the woman said shortly before Spock could answer, without looking up from rummaging in her bag.

The Savant's face went an ashen pale. He prodded the nearest guard with a gnarled finger. "You, go find Varen and bring him here," he ordered. The man bowed and immediately ran off, the remaining guards shifting to close the gap. "What happened?" the Savant asked, stooping to get a look at Kirk.

Spock opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it closed again and seized the healer's wrist.

She did not drop the knife she had withdrawn from her bag, but instead gazed calmly back at him. "If I had wanted to harm him, he would be dead already," she said with icy indignation. "I need to clean the entry wound, or he will bleed to death."

Spock stared at her for a moment longer, but she did not so much as blink. Were all medics possessed of such iron-willed nerve? Perhaps only the best. Spock released her, and she continued with her work as though nothing had occurred, using the knife to slice the captain's tunic open from hem to shoulder.

"Will some one kindly tell me what has _happened_?" the Savant demanded crossly, a man who was clearly unaccustomed to being ignored.

Spock looked up briefly, sparing him little more than a quick glance. He was determined to watch every move this woman made. He described the events in short, abrupt sentences as she poured a generous amount of a foul smelling liquid onto a square of cloth and used it to clean the small puncture wound. The uniform tunic was thoroughly soaked in blood, and she instructed Spock to hold another pad in place over the wound as she cut it apart and removed it altogether.

Spock omitted the failure of their phasers, but the rest of his recital was accurate. And brief; the entire incident had lasted less than five minutes.

When he was done, the Savant sighed. "Thank Draga for Trin and Peth," he said, and shook his head. "No one can argue against that boy now."

Spock watched as the woman took another vial from her bag and began shaking it. "You are certain it was Peth that attacked the dragon?" he asked.

The Savant laughed wearily, and Spock glanced up long enough to note the resigned nod. "Peth is… shall we say, unique."

"Then my captain and I are both indebted to her," Spock said.

"Those two have been a thorn in the side of the Court since the moment Peth cracked her shell," the healer said, but she smiled fondly as she spoke. Satisfied that its contents were mixed, she pulled the stopper out of the vial and made a gesture for Spock to adjust her patient's position. She administered the medication in the same manner as before.

"Which is fortunate," the Savant added, rubbing a hand across his lined face with a heavy sigh, "or else this plot would probably have succeeded."

Spock's head jerked up as a group entered the room, led by the man the Savant had dispatched to retrieve Varen. The captain of the guard was accompanied by several other soldiers, all looking as though they had just returned from combat. There was no logical reason to level suspicion at him, no evidence save the whisper of a nervous servant.

His captain did not trust this man.

Spock's left hand, resting on the marbled floor, curled into a fist before he made a conscious effort to control the reaction. Instead, he stared unblinkingly at Varen as the man neared. This had a somewhat satisfying result as an expression of nervous fear flitted across Varen's face for just a moment.

"Out of my way, you great brute," the Savant snapped irritably and pushed the foremost guard aside. "Report!" he added to Varen.

"The Shadowguard have retreated," Varen said calmly, his gaze dropping to meet Spock's eyes before flicking over Kirk and the woman and returning to the Savant. "Several injuries, three deaths."

"Disgraceful," the Savant growled. "Attacking the Court of Law!"

"The Shadowguard are without honor," Varen replied with very little inflection.

"What could they possibly have hoped to accomplish?" the Savant demanded of no one in particular in a sudden burst of frustration.

"It would seem they desired the death of the outworlders," Varen answered mildly.

"Idiots!" the Savant growled. "They have no idea what they could do to us in retaliation!"

"The Federation is not the Klingon Empire," Kirk said, his voice hoarse.

Spock breathed a very quiet sigh of relief as his captain struggled to sit up on his own.

"You really shouldn't—" the woman started, then cut herself off with a sigh and instead helped him to his feet. "Typical," she muttered.

Kirk wobbled unsteadily in place, and Spock discreetly held one hand behind his captain's back in case he should lose his balance. Kirk shook his head, trying to clear it, and looked up at the Savant. "We are _not_ Klingons. We have come here to—"

"My Lady Tara!" a nearly frantic voice called, and everyone present turned as Trin ran into the room. He was shirtless now and his bare chest was smeared with blood. The woman's eyes widened in alarm at the sight of him as he stumbled to a halt before them. "Please, my Lady Tara, it's Peth!" Trin began before she had time to say anything. "I don't have any money, but I can—"

He broke off as the woman gave him a rough shove away from her, her face darkening into an angry scowl. "Do not insult me with talk of payment, child!" she snapped. Trin blinked away tears of relief. "Where is she?"

"Her stall," Trin answered quickly.

The healer gave him another push. "Go, I will be there shortly." Trin made a very quick but deep bow before turning and sprinting back they way he'd come.

"The citizens do not pay your wages to treat that whelp's mutant _pet_," Varen snapped.

Tara's face hardened into a granite stare. "Do not presume to tell me who I may tend to, my _Lord_ Varen," she said with regal dignity. Varen's mouth thinned into an angry line but he made no reply as she turned way from him and looked at Kirk. "I have done what I can," she said quickly. "I will return soon."

She brought her wrist to her forehead and bowed to the Savant before gathering up her heavy bag. She paused and, almost as an afterthought, made the same gesture to Varen but with a distinct air of sarcasm. Varen's eyes glittered with open malice as he watched her leave.

"Have a care, Varen," a new voice said, and the captain of the guard's eyes widened in surprise.

Kirk and Spock looked around in confusion as everyone else in the room suddenly turned and bowed nearly to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

A man had entered the Court, dressed in leather pants and a heavily embroidered silken tunic. Despite the dust of the road on his traveling cloak and clothing, he carried himself with a dignity that clearly announced he was a man of some influence. He was surrounded by no less than six men in armor, none of whom were bowing. He was younger than the Savant, but old enough for the weight of his responsibilities to show on his face and in the gray of his short hair and beard.

The Savant was the first to rise, and the rest of the room followed suit.

"The Lada Tara is a renowned healer, Varen," the man continued into the silence. "Do not give her cause to seek employment elsewhere, or I shall be most upset."

"No, my Lord Keeper," Varen replied after a moment. "I only meant that the taxpayers funds could be better used."

"I am aware of your opinion," the Keeper said. "Return to your duties, for which _you_ are paid. I want the Court guard doubled, and I will hold you personally responsible for any other attack against our… visitors."

Varen's jaw clenched, but he bowed low and obeyed.

"I leave for a day, and chaos ensues," the Keeper said, looking around the room.

Kirk drew himself up with as much dignity as he could when the Keeper's eyes settled on him. His ribcage protested the movement and he held his breath a moment against the pain but he was damned if he was going to show it. He was finally getting an audience with possibly the most powerful man on Veyga, and here he was, half naked, covered in plaster dust, and bloody. To add to that, he was fighting a nauseating tremor in his stomach, and desperately hoped he didn't add vomiting on the marble floor of the Court of Law to the list of embarrassments of the day.

Kirk glanced at Spock, who was standing beside him with his hands clasped calmly behind his back. He sighed, noting that he'd apparently bled all over his immaculate first officer. Even so, the Vulcan stood with a dignity that Kirk envied at the moment. His hair wasn't even messed up. The universe just wouldn't be right if Spock's hair was messed up. Spock raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but Kirk squelched his amusement and looked away.

"Rider Bitrul," the Keeper said, choosing for the moment to ignore the Federation officers. He held an open hand out to a blood spattered man wearing rider leathers, one of the men that had accompanied Varen. He closed it into a fist and brought it to his chest. "You may speak."

Bitrul cast a quick glance at the small assembly before gazing at the Keeper. "It wasn't said, my Lord," he said, "but it should be known it was Rider Trin as sounded the alarm, and his Peth as took on Ligar."

The Keeper blinked in surprise. "Ligar?"

Bitril nodded. "Yes, my Lord – it was Ligar what attacked the outworlders," he said, with a glance at where Kirk and Spock were standing. "And it was Peth as took him on – by herself, my Lord – until my Goran got there."

The Keeper smiled. "Your Goran is quite fond of little Peth," he said kindly.

Bitril ducked his head slightly in embarrassment. "Took off without me, he did, when he saw as it was Peth in trouble," he admitted. He looked up then, boldly meeting the Keeper's eyes with a frank earnestness. "Isn't my place to say, my Lord, and I know it, but there are many in the Vanguard as think Trin would make a right proper rider, no matter his birth. And no embarrassment to the Court. Neither him nor Peth. Right clever one, she is."

"Were it within my power, my friend, it would be so," the Keeper said with a sigh. "As it is, the Captain of the Guard and the majority disagree." He made a gesture of dismissal that encompassed all who had entered with Varen and they bowed as one. Bitril dropped to one knee and touched the inside of his wrist to his forehead and then his chest before departing.

The Keeper turned to his Savant with raised eyebrows.

"Captain James T. Kirk, my Lord Keeper," the old man said with a gesture at the slightly woozy human. "And his first officer, Mister Spock. They represent the United Federation of Planets, and wish to speak to us of trade."

"Federation of… _planets_," the Keeper said, and tilted his head at Kirk in thought for a long moment. "Whole planets."

Kirk was half afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd throw up, so he simply returned the scrutiny calmly.

"The Klingon commander spoke of a Federation," the Keeper said slowly.

"Yes, my Lord Keeper," the Savant agreed. "He didn't speak very highly of them, if I recall," he added.

"No, no, he didn't," the Keeper said and walked slowly towards Kirk.

The guards surrounding them, for the Savant was still at their side, parted to allow him and his own escort within the circle. There were now a whole lot of very large, very armed men surrounding Kirk and Spock. Kirk locked eyes with the Keeper, determined to remain silent while these two played whatever game they were at. He kept every muscle in his body relaxed, and projected calm self assurance.

"You do not like the Klingons," the Keeper began without preamble, looking at Kirk.

"No, I don't," Kirk answered honestly.

"This Klingon, his name was Khartag," the Keeper said as he crossed his arms. "He spoke of your Federation as mewling weaklings, cowards. And yet… that is not the impression I get of you."

Kirk replied with a cocky little smile.

"Proven twice in one night that size does not equal courage," the Keeper said, and laughed. "My Savant has chosen to hear you, Federation Captain, and I see why." He turned toward the old man and added. "I got your message and returned as swiftly as possible. We have much to discuss."

The Savant nodded. "The rest of the council should be here by late morning."

"Well," the Keeper said and glanced between Kirk and Spock before regarding the captain again. "Apparently, the Shadowguard destroyed all three of the Court's guest suites this evening. So, where to put you for the night?"

"Perhaps the Lady Serelda's chambers?" the Savant suggested. "I don't think she would mind, under the circumstances."

The Keeper sighed. "No, I suppose not," he said with a sad smile. He pointed at two of his guards. "You and you. Take these two to the green room, and guard them with your lives." He glanced back at Kirk and gave a very slight bow. "They are to be accorded all due respect."

The two men instantly moved to flank the Starfleet officers as the Keeper turned and walked away, the Savant and the rest of the guards all filing after him. "You shall be summoned when the council has convened," he said without looking back.

The four stood in the empty Court for a moment, and Kirk gradually began to realize that something was expected of him. He glanced between the guards, both of which stood almost two feet taller than him and were staring straight ahead. He looked at Spock, but the Vulcan only raised one eyebrow in his version of a shrug. The shorter of the guards looked down at Kirk out of the corner of his eyes. In a spontaneous gesture, Kirk gave the man a little wave and a smile. The guard blinked and his mouth twitched.

"So, uh," Kirk said. "I guess we should go."

Neither guard gave any indication of acknowledgement, but the taller one began walking toward one of the corridors that branched off from the main chamber. The shorter, slightly older guard remained motionless until Kirk started after the first, Spock at his side, and then moved to bring up the rear. Kirk sighed, barely loud enough for even Spock to hear, as they walked down a wide corridor.

Spock was well aware of how important appearances and bearing was to any diplomatic event, and his captain was doing an astonishing job of appearing completely at ease. Whatever concoction the healer had used on his captain's wound was quite effective, for the small cut was sealed and looked to be hardly more than a scratch now. But Spock was acutely aware of the blood that was soaking the sleeve of his tunic with a disturbingly cloying dampness, and his captain was far too pale. Spock's gaze dropped surreptitiously as they traversed a stone staircase, and his eyes narrowed at the mottled bruising that was starting to spread across the left side of Kirk's chest.

Kirk was having some difficulty concealing his trouble breathing by the time they climbed a second flight of stairs. A stout wooden door was at the end of the corridor, which the leading guard opened. He turned back when Kirk made to follow him, holding up his arm. The guard looked mildly affronted, as though he'd been insulted in some way, before he entered the room. Kirk took the hint and waited until he returned. The two guards then took up positions in the corridor, one on each side of the door, without a word.

Kirk looked up at the shorter guard, who seemed slightly more responsive. To his relief, the man flicked his eyes towards the room before looking straight ahead again.

Whoever this Lady Serelda was did not lack for comfort. The room they entered was bordered by floor to ceiling bookcases that were interspersed by heavy wall hangings. The floor was thickly carpeted under their feet, and the ornately carved wooden furniture was heavily padded. Bio-luminescent globes dangled from the ceiling, where pale green glass had been spun into delicate branches and leaves that created a sparkling forest canopy above their heads.

There were three closed doors attached to the room, and Spock proceeded to open and look into each one. The first was a bedroom, similar to the one in the cottage, and the second was what appeared to be a single-room servant's quarters. This was not nearly as lavishly appointed, and therefore far more to Spock's personal tastes. The third was a lavatory, and Spock hesitated on the threshold to look down at his arm. The sleeve was beginning to stiffen as it dried, and the metallic smell of human blood was becoming quite strong.

Spock looked to his captain, who had set into motion a bronze mechanical device that appeared to be an inaccurate representation of Veyga's solar system. Kirk looked up, idly spinning one of the outermost planets, and his eyes flicked from Spock to what was visible of the room beyond. Spock could not fathom what his captain found so amusing as he grinned and made a dismissive gesture. "Go ahead, Spock. You're a disgrace to the service walking around like that."

Spock raised an indignant eyebrow, openly examining his captain from head to toe to silently point out the flaw in Kirk's logic.

Kirk gave a short bark of laughter, quickly cut off with a small grimace. "Touché," he said and waved his first officer away. "Don't dawdle, though – I want to see how far our keepers will let us roam."

Spock narrowed his eyes at the implication that he would ever engage in such an activity, but settled for a brief nod of acknowledgment.

The bathing room was even more resplendent than the one in the cottage, and contained a glassed-in, tiled stall. There were only so many ways a shower could be designed, and it was a simple matter to decipher the knobs. Spock did not care for water showers, but it was far preferable to being soaked with his captain's blood. He toweled himself dry and brushed the white flecks of plaster dust from his uniform pants. The short-sleeved, black thermal undergarment he wore beneath his tunic had not been soiled, and so he redressed in all but the blue sciences shirt. This he folded neatly and set on the marble counter, not knowing where else to leave it.

Kirk had settled himself into the cushioned depths of one of the couches, and looked up from a thick book when Spock emerged. "Do you think they'd let us see Peth?" he asked, with a jerk of his chin in the general direction of the guarded door.

Spock blinked, considering the possibility. He thought it best if his captain got some rest, but he'd learned from experience that saying so would be a waste of time, and therefore illogical. Still, his eyes lingered on the bruising that had darkened noticeably in the short time he'd been occupied, and it occurred to him that the healer was with the dragon. Spock raised an eyebrow by way of answer and crossed the room. He opened the door, and looked between the two guards, neither of which gave any indication that they were aware of his presence.

"We wish to see the dragon Peth," he said mildly.

The guards exchanged a brief, sideways glance with each other, but did not otherwise respond. Spock stepped aside so that there was room in the doorway for both of them as Kirk came up beside him, the captain's annoyance radiating from him in waves.

"You were told to give us all due respect," Kirk said shortly, "and where I come from, it's very disrespectful to ignore your commanding officer."

The taller guard's eyes widened with hastily hidden surprise when his older companion spoke without turning his head. "We are yours to do as you _order_, my Lord," he said in a gravely whisper, his thin lips barely moving.

"All right," Kirk said. "I order you to face me."

The guard blinked, but obeyed, turning about to face the captain. The younger guard's eyes darted down the corridor as though he feared they might be seen doing something horribly illegal. "We are obviously having some communication issues," Kirk continued. "I come from very, very far away and I don't know your customs. So I am ordering you to tell me what I'm supposed to do, and I am ordering you to tell me when I say or do something wrong."

The guard blinked again, and seemed about to say something but stopped himself. Kirk sighed. "I am _ordering_ you to speak freely. Say or ask anything you like."

"My orders are to guard you, my Lord, and that would be much easier if you stayed here," the guard finally said, and swallowed nervously. His companion would probably require surgery to replace his eyes into their sockets.

"Yes, I understand that," Kirk said with deliberate mildness. "But that dragon saved my life tonight, and I'd like to thank her for it."

The guard tilted his head at Kirk before catching the motion and halting it. Kirk couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a slight measure of respect in the guard's eyes as he bowed. "As you wish, my Lord," he replied. He glanced at the other guard, who's rather disdainful expression was clear indication that he did not approve of the older man's decision. "Follow me," he said and headed toward the stairs.

Kirk glanced at Spock before starting after him, giving his first officer a little shrug. Spock fell in beside him, and Kirk glanced behind them as the younger, taller guard brought up the rear, apparently unwilling to take the lead in this travesty of proper behavior.

Kirk was beginning to regret his own restlessness at being cooped up by the time they made it to the bottom of the two flights of stairs. Alien poisons and alien remedies were generally something to be avoided, and this was reinforced by his throbbing skull. He blinked in surprise at his hand when he brushed it across his forehead and it came away damp. He was starting to wish he'd let Spock make a grab for his tricorder.

Still, he'd be fine. He didn't think the trade talks would last past tomorrow (today?), one way or another. Then they could get back to the shuttle and its medkit, which he was certain would either fix him up properly or at least keep him going until the Enterprise returned for them. He'd have to endure McCoy's rant about idiotic captains and their idiotic stunts, but it'd be worth it to get rid of this headache.

They were led down a side passageway and out into the courtyard again. The guards quickened their pace, glancing in all directions and up at the sky as they walked. Kirk noted that the walls surrounding the Court of Law had been lit with blazing torches, and he could see the large silhouettes of dragons stationed evenly along the battlements. It certainly looked like Varen was doing his job, but Kirk couldn't shake the feeling that the man could not be trusted.

Kirk wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected, but he hadn't expected to be led to a barn. The wide double doors were open to the night, a soft glow of light spilling onto the packed dirt. They were escorted inside, and passed many stalls. Some were empty, but others had four-legged beasts that resembled very large horses. These slashed reptilian tails and blinked cat-like eyes at them as they passed, but did not seem to pay any particular attention to them.

At the end of the wooden building was a wide area that looked like the walls dividing several stalls had been removed to produce one large room. At the center of this, Peth was resting on her belly on a thick bed of straw with her legs tucked up beneath her. Tara, still wearing a simple sleeping gown that was now bloodied had straddled her back and was pulling an actual needle through the thick skin of the dragon's neck. Peth's wings twitched, folded tightly against her sides. Kirk was grateful McCoy wasn't there to see that, or the medic would have likely had a seizure. A young girl waited at Tara's feet, holding a large tray at the ready.

"My Lord Kirk," Trin said in surprise, and Kirk followed his voice to a corner of the stall where the rider was sitting cross-legged on a bed. He jumped to his feet, glancing quickly between the captain and Spock. The guards took up sentry positions on either side of the entrance as the Starfleet officers stepped into the room. Kirk's eyes touched on the bed, dresser, table and assorted possessions. There was an unmistakable lived-in quality to the place, and Kirk realized that this was Trin and Peth's _home_.

Trin seemed keenly aware of Kirk's surprise and confusion, and looked down at the ground.

"Rider Trin," Kirk said, and waited for the young man to look up again. Kirk suddenly had a feeling that the title was granted to him as a technicality, but that it was often a point of sarcasm or ridicule. Kirk didn't know the details, but it was increasingly clear to him that Trin, for whatever reason, had a dragon when he shouldn't, and that Peth was considered malformed or deficient. "You and your dragon saved my life, and my first officer's. For that I thank you both."

Kirk raised his hand as he had seen the others do, touching the inside of his wrist first to his forehead and then to his chest as he bowed to Trin. The rider's eyes widened, but Kirk gave him no time to reply as he turned to Peth. He made the same gesture, bowing even lower. The dragon's jaws parted, not in humor but in shocked surprise.

"You're completely serious," Tara said, looking down at them from her perch atop Peth's back.

Kirk met the old woman's eyes with a calm conviction, and refused to back down from her challenging stare.

She smiled then, shedding at least twenty years from her face, and plucked a pair of metal shears from the tray the girl was holding. She clipped the thread she was holding and then tossed both the needle and the shears back on the tray. "Get me down from here, boy," she said.

Trin instantly crossed to her, and guided her feet to Peth's bent knee and helped her down with his hands around her waist. The young man seemed embarrassed as if the whole thing was somehow inappropriate, but was obviously not willing to disobey her.

The woman smoothed down her nightgown, which had ridden up to her thighs, and then took a good look at Kirk. "For Draga's sake, what were you _thinking_?" she demanded. Kirk blinked in surprise as she hurried forward and rested a hand on his chest to peer at the now livid bruising. He winced at the light pressure, and she scowled.

"I was—" Kirk began.

"Silence," Tara snapped. "You shouldn't even be speaking, let alone walking around." Kirk obeyed, knowing that it was useless to argue with a healer when they were in full swing, and allowed her to prod at him. Her touch wasn't as rough as she would have others think, though, and the exam was brief if uncomfortable. "It should be all right," she pronounced. "As long as you don't do something stupid." She looked at Spock. "Where are they keeping you?"

Kirk opened his mouth to answer, but Tara silenced him with a glance.

"It was called the green room," Spock answered.

Tara blinked in surprise, and then smiled. "Well, that's fitting." She glanced back at the girl, who was still standing there with the metal tray. "Return that to my chambers, Caya, dear, and then go to the cellars and find these two something decent to wear. Have some wine brought up to them as well."

The girl glanced at Kirk and Spock, studying them with an expert eye, then bowed and scurried away.

Tara pointed at Trin. "Keep an eye on her," she ordered with a flick of her wrist at Peth. "She's fine, but let me know if she develops any sort of fever from infection. I'll stop by in the morning."

Trin nodded, gently touching the sutures in his dragon's neck. Everyone else present might well have simply disappeared from existence as he looked up at Peth with pride and affection.

"You," she said to Kirk, and the captain raised both eyebrows without daring to speak. "Well at least you're trainable," she quipped haughtily. "Get back to where you belong, and stay there. This old woman is going back to sleep, and I don't want to be summoned from my bed on account of a foolish man who doesn't have the sense Draga gave a chia."

Kirk glanced at Spock, but the Vulcan would obviously be of no help for he returned the captain's silent plea with only a raised eyebrow. Kirk sighed, and gestured at the guard. "Well, you heard the lady," he grumbled. The taller man didn't appear to approve of Tara's irreverent behavior, but the shorter guard was trying very hard to stifle a fond smile. Kirk decided he liked him. "What's your name?" he asked as they were led back through the courtyard.

The guard blinked, but he didn't seem offended by the question, simply surprised. "Jolan, my Lord. And since you command it, my Lord, I should like to mention that it isn't customary for a man of rank to be familiar with a commissioned soldier."

"Does it bother you?" Kirk asked with frank honesty.

The guard hesitated, then gave a small shrug. "No, my Lord, it doesn't bother _me_." His eyes flicked to the other guard, and Kirk decided to simply ignore him for the remainder of his stay on this planet, since that was apparently what he deemed proper.

"Tell me about the Court of Law, Jolan," Kirk said. "Nothing secret, just the sort of thing everyone knows."

And so Jolan spoke first of the general layout of the place as they walked, even as his eyes roved about in search of any threat. He seemed to enjoy the task, his speech becoming less formal, and he quickly noted Spock's quiet appreciation for the various works of art hung from the walls and tucked into little niches in the corridors they traveled. He pointed some of them out, speaking of their history and origins. In short order, however, they came to the door of their borrowed quarters. The nameless guard opened the door, and Kirk waited patiently for him to fulfill his duty.

When they had resumed their posts, Kirk looked up at Jolan. "You two are just going to stand out here all night?" he asked.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Okay," Kirk said, then shook his head as he and Spock entered the room. "How long until morning, Spock?"

"I would estimate approximately four hours and thirty eight minutes until sunrise, Captain," he answered after a brief moment of calculation.

Kirk bounced a fist against his leg in annoyance. He hated waiting. Four and a half hours. And that was just for the sun to come up – he had no way of knowing how long until everyone was present so that they could actually get things rolling. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and then grimaced at the grit he encountered.

"I need a shower," he commented.

"Yes, sir," Spock agreed.

"Smartass," Kirk grumbled and stalked into the lavatory.

"Yes, sir," Spock added, and the door closed on the sound of Kirk's laughter.


	6. Chapter 6

Spock picked up the book that his captain had discarded on the low table in front of the couch, and idly studied the minute characters as he turned its pages. He was certain he could decipher the language, given enough time, but for now he began pulling books from the shelves at random, looking through them in the small chance that some images might prove enlightening.

Spock's head inclined automatically as the sound of running water drifted from the bathing room. It disturbed him that his captain had apparently become a target, no doubt for someone's obscure political agenda. Under ideal circumstances, they would have waited aboard the Enterprise until morning in this part of the world before traveling to the surface. It would have been the middle of the ship's delta shift, but only a minor inconvenience to his captain and no hardship at all to himself.

But if there was one thing that Spock had grown to accept as a constant during his service under one James T. Kirk, it was that circumstances were _never _ideal.

The Enterprise had not been able to remain in orbit to facilitate better timing for their planet side arrival, and returning to the shuttle at the moment would be ill advised, for the cover of darkness would only give any would-be attacker a greater advantage. It appeared that they would be spending the remainder of the night – and a good portion of the following day – within the confines of the Court before being able to make their way back to the Copernicus.

A soft knock at the door heralded Caya's arrival. She was carrying a stack of folded clothing and brought with her another woman who held a silver tray bearing several cut crystal goblets and a large decanter filled with a dark red beverage. Both were searched before being allowed to enter, and they left their offerings on the low table. They stood there silently until Spock suspected that something was expected of him. He passed his tricorder briefly over the wine, and gave them a slight nod of acceptance. They bowed and left without uttering a single word.

They did, of course, have additional uniforms in the Copernicus, as well as other basic sundries. In the meanwhile, however, these would have to suffice. Spock sorted through the garments provided, and chose an olive-green tunic for his captain. He collected the remaining items to complete a change of clothing, for he did not think Kirk could be wearing anything that was not tainted by blood or sweat. Humans produced a revolting amount of liquid through every centimeter of their skin and from every orifice, and Spock was once again grateful that he'd been born to a desert-dwelling species.

"Spock," he said in response to the garbled query when he knocked lightly on the door, and then pushed it open at an equally garbled reply.

He was greeted by a cloud of water vapor, and resisted the urge to sigh. He kept his eyes carefully averted, for his captain – possessing no sense of modesty – had leaned half out of the shower stall in curiosity. Spock set the pile on the counter while Kirk dripped water all over the floor. And then, because his captain had neglected to think that far ahead and would no doubt make an even greater mess, Spock pulled a towel from a shelf across the room and draped it over the top of the stall.

"Thanks, Spock," his captain said before disappearing back into the shower.

Spock shook his head as he left the unpleasant humidity without comment.

He returned to randomly perusing the library, and had found a book that was illustrated on nearly every other page by the time Kirk emerged. The clothing was too large, falling about his captain in loose folds, but the girl had no doubt done her best. Kirk was carrying the rolled pair of socks in one hand and his boots in the other, and Spock's eyes dropped unwillingly to the carpet, where his captain's bare feet were tracking wet footprints across the fabric as he walked towards him. It was beyond his comprehension how a man who was so militarily tidy could be so… untidy.

"Find anything interesting?" Kirk asked, leaning forward to peer at the book upside-down.

"It appears to be some sort of historical account," Spock said, turning a page.

"Looks bloody," Kirk commented.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Most are."

Kirk hummed absently in agreement, and moved away to drop his boots in front of the couch. He looked into the pitcher of wine, but his stomach did a flip at the thought of eating or drinking anything. The room suddenly felt incredibly stuffy, and he went over to the window and opened it. A breeze wafted in, and he took as deep a breath as he could to clear his head.

Spock turned another page, and allowed himself a tiny sigh as his captain began to pace restlessly.

"Spock–"

"Four hours, seven minutes."

Spock put away the book and chose another as Kirk resumed his pacing. After a few moments, Spock realized what he was looking at. "A language primer," he said aloud with startled surprise as he flipped through the pages to confirm his find.

Kirk stopped pacing and watched as Spock began taking books from their shelves and stacking them on a large desk near the window. Soon, there were books lying around him in all directions, for the Vulcan had usurped every flat surface within range, and he was comparing script from several that were open on the desk in front of him. Spock seemed completely oblivious to the world, wrapped up in his new challenge, and Kirk knew it was best to just leave him be when he got like that.

A dull ache had started in the joints of his hips and shoulders at some point, and Kirk settled himself uncomfortably on the couch. He felt a warm glow of pride as he watched Spock, knowing his first officer would probably have the Veygan written language memorized by morning and be rattling off all kinds of information he found in the books. He remembered the brilliant yet awkward science officer he'd met when he'd first taken command of the Enterprise, and he was proud of how much Spock had changed since then. Kirk knew he had the best first officer in the fleet, and he was damn proud of that fact. The Vulcan did things now that he would once have never even considered, and he did it with _style_. He smiled as his eyes drifted closed, the sound of rustling paper and the familiar, companionable silence lulling him into sleep. At least a nap would pass the time.

Some part of Spock's brain that kept track of such things noted that his captain's breathing had evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep. He gave a small nod to himself in satisfaction, for at least now he would be able to work without distraction. Soon, however, the gentle breeze stiffened into a cold draft and Spock, still in his Starfleet issue undershirt, suppressed a shiver. He glanced from the open window to his captain and noted the faint sheen of perspiration at his temple. Rather than close the window, he rose and sifted through the pile of clothing until he found a pale blue sweater with long sleeves. It was even more ill fitting on his wiry frame than his captain's was, but it served its purpose adequately. It was nearing dawn when a sudden gust of wind whipped through the room and rattled the pages of several open books. Spock suppressed a mild surge of annoyance as he pressed a hand against the nearest book to keep his place.

"What time is it?" Kirk mumbled, and Spock looked over to see his captain peering at him from over the arm of the couch.

It was not logical to apologize for the wind, and yet he found himself doing just that. "It was not my intention to disturb you."

"S'kay," Kirk replied, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he heaved himself off of the couch, and he didn't even bother trying to hide a tired groan. Spock watched him as he crossed over to the window and looked out at the first hints of grey lighting the sky. Kirk closed the window, and looked at Spock with a frown. "You should have shut that, you know – you've got to be freezing over here."

"It is of no consequence," Spock replied quietly.

"We can't both catch –" Kirk stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of the desk and sending a stack of books tumbling to the floor.

"Captain?" Spock asked, half rising from his seat even as Kirk held out a hand to wave him back down.

"Little dizzy spell," Kirk said, and blinked to clear his vision. "I'm all right now." He could tell that Spock wasn't buying it, though, and frankly it would be embarrassing to pass out in front of whatever dignitaries were converging on the city for the trade talks. He sighed and added, "But... maybe we should make a quick trip to the shuttle for the medkit before the council session."

Spock nodded curtly, getting to his feet. "I suggest we proceed immediately."

It was still some time before true dawn, but Kirk supposed there would be enough light to see by before they got to the forest's edge. He brushed a tired hand over his eyes as he picked up his boots and borrowed socks and sat on the edge of the couch to put them on. Spock's face was as calm as usual as he waited patiently, but the books abandoned in a pile on the floor without a second thought, pages bent beneath their own weight, gave him away.

Jolan and his companion were still on guard, and Kirk found himself wondering when they were expected to sleep. In a sudden fit of annoyance, Kirk mentally dubbed the taller, younger guard Nameless. "We're going to… our vehicle," Kirk told them. Nameless didn't seem too happy about the order, but then, he hadn't expected him to be.

Jolan, growing accustomed to the liberties granted him, turned to frown at Kirk. "Your vehicle, my Lord?"

"Yes," Kirk answered. "It's out in the forest." He would prefer it if he could leave their escort here, but he didn't think Jolan would let them go off by themselves. He was right.

"My Lord… I do not think that is wise," Jolan said hesitantly and Nameless went red in the face.

"We're going," Kirk said firmly.

"In that case, my Lord, may I suggest that we stop by the stable first to saddle up some vithran?" Jolan offered helpfully.

Kirk hesitated, and assumed he meant the reptilian, horse-like creatures sharing Peth's stable. The dull ache had spread during his little nap, and it felt like every joint in his body was in the process of slowly seizing up. The idea of trekking all the way to the Copernicus and back again, on foot, wasn't appealing. "Yes," he agreed reluctantly. "Thank you."

They took the same rout to the stables as before, and the wide doors were still open to the pre-dawn gloom. The vithran looked at them placidly as they entered, lifting their heads to peer over their stalls, as Jolan headed for the far wall. Kirk and Spock stood next to each other and watched as the guard examined an assortment of saddles and other riding tack that were hung from pegs and stacked on wooden frames.

Both Jolan and Nameless suddenly drew their swords, swinging around at the sound of boots crunching on the gravely, hard packed dirt, but had relaxed before Kirk had even finished turning around.

"Lady Tara will have a fit," Trin said, standing in the entrance with his arms wrapped around a large burlap bag. He set this on the ground and eyed Kirk with more humor than objection.

"I don't think anyone's happy about it," Kirk said shortly, and Trin's smile faded.

"Yes, my Lord," he said and bowed. "How many mounts will you be needing, my Lord?"

Kirk sighed, regretting his short temper. "Four."

Trin gave a nod, glanced at each of them in turn to size them up, and began preparing four of the animals. He was clearly skilled at his work, and the task was done by the time the edge of the sun slipped over the horizon. Trin brought the first vithra to Kirk, leading it by a fairly standard looking bridle. Kirk was familiar with horses, had pretty much grown up around them, but the animal nervously shied away from him, rumbling dangerously with flared nostrils.

Trin reached out to stroke the muzzle of the beast to calm it, and glanced at Kirk. "He doesn't like your smell," he said, sounding apologetic.

They tried a couple more times, and eventually Trin was able to coax the beast into allowing Kirk into the saddle. Vithran were nearly half as large again as the largest horse Kirk had ever seen, and the saddle he was using could probably have seated two of him. It pranced nervously, clearly unhappy with the situation. The second vithra was even more obstinate, and it took nearly ten minutes for Trin to convince it to allow a very reluctant Spock onto its back. Kirk bit his lip, because it just wouldn't be fair to laugh, but Spock looked dreadful. He was stiff as a board, and his hands gripped the pommel of the saddle tightly to keep his balance as the vithra shifted in agitation. There weren't many things in the universe that could fluster his unflappable first officer, but sitting astride an animal was one of those things.

"I don't think this is going to work," Trin said regretfully and petted the nose of Spock's vithra while he gave the problem some thought. The animal seemed to find the gesture calming, for it relaxed a bit. "They might settle down if I went with you," the rider offered hesitantly.

Kirk just wanted to get going. "We'll try it. Otherwise, we'll walk."

Trin nodded, and brought the remaining two vithran for Nameless and Jolan – neither of whom had any difficulty. The guards took the lead out of the barn, and Trin led Kirk and Spock's mounts out by their reins. Their alien scent was clearly the problem, and Kirk was debating giving up on the whole thing when Spock's mount tossed its head angrily, and its thick tail lashed so hard that it struck Kirk's vithra on the rump.

Kirk let out a startled yelp as his mount broke into a sudden run.

He heard Trin yell Peth's name as Kirk seized the reins and pulled on them, but the animal seemed inclined to ignore anything he did. They hadn't gotten very far when a rush of wind set the animal rearing, its clawed feet tearing up clods of earth. Kirk grabbed at its neck, and somehow managed to stay in the saddle as a shadow fell over them. Peth suddenly dropped out of the sky in front of them, her huge wings stretched to their full span. She barked a low growl through her nose and snapped at the animal.

The vithra huffed unhappily, but turned back.

Peth folded her wings awkwardly as she herded the animal back the short distance to the stable, for her saddle was not on properly and was dangling by two loose straps. Now that the adrenaline was flushing out of his system, Kirk knew that the jouncing hadn't done him any good. He leaned forward in the saddle in an attempt to ease the aching throb in his chest as they returned to the stable.

"Tara will have my hide," Trin said as they got near.

"I'm all right," Kirk replied automatically. He realized how awful he must look when even Nameless stared back at him with disbelief. He was experienced enough to know that nothing was broken, but now he _really_ didn't want to walk to the shuttle. He certainly wasn't going to resort to being carried. So he drew himself up in the saddle with pride, and looked at them calmly. "Let's go."

Trin hesitated for a moment, then sighed as Peth strode up to him. The rider finished strapping the saddle into place, and then Peth knelt so that he could get a foot up on her bent knee and hoist himself onto her back. The pair sidled up between Kirk and Spock's vithran, and Trin took both sets of reins, one in each hand. They walked ahead until the leather strips reached their end and tugged on the heads of the vithran, perhaps a meter in front of them. The animals seemed much calmer with Peth leading them, and they obeyed quietly. Jolan and Nameless dropped back to bring up the rear as they were led to the Court gates.

Kirk's ribs finally stopped clamoring for attention long enough for him to notice that his left hand was also complaining. He glanced down at it, holding it palm upwards, and grimaced. There were several small puncture wounds from the spines on his vithra's neck. This mission was just getting better and better every second.

"My apologies, Captain," Spock murmured softly from beside him, and Kirk looked over. The Vulcan was staring at his hand.

"Not your fault," Kirk said too softly for anyone but Spock to hear. He wiggled his fingers, just to make sure everything worked properly. "Just something else for the medkit," he added with a sardonic smile.

Spock sighed and looked away without reply. It was an illogical notion, riddled with emotion, to suspect the universe of conspiring against his captain.

In the light of day Kirk could clearly see that dragons were posted evenly along the top of the stone wall surrounding the Court, and armored soldiers patrolled the spaces between them. This was apparently all on his account, because it was nothing like that the previous day. In fact, security hadn't really seemed to be of much import when they had arrived.

As if he could read his mind, Jolan spoke up behind him. "The Court isn't usually so fortified. The Keeper and the council members have their own guards, sworn to them, but dragons are usually only stationed here in times of war. Lord Varen is taking no chances, my Lord," he said, and it was clear that he had some admiration for the captain of the guard.

Kirk glanced over his shoulder with a grateful smile, but said nothing as he didn't want to offend their only source of information. He didn't usually doubt his own instincts, but maybe he'd made a mistake in Varen's case. Regardless, these preventative measures would be of no use once they left the gate, and he could understand the soldier's reluctance to allow it.

They exited the Court through a different gate than they had entered, bypassing the main hall, probably because of the animals. Whatever ridicule Trin might have to suffer from the Vanguard, it seemed that most of the regular militia guards had no lack of respect for him, and they were waved on without incident. The city was only just stirring to life, but it was clear that the general populace also seemed rather fond of them. Shopkeepers, opening for the day, smiled and called morning greetings as the small progression made their way to the city gates and out onto the road.

Trin and Peth remained in the lead, but dropped back so that they rode between Kirk and Spock as they veered off the road, drawing in the reins so that they rode three abreast. Kirk allowed Spock to give them verbal directions as they entered into the shade of the woods, because his head was starting to get muzzy again, and he didn't want to risk having to have his first officer correct him.

The tall, spindly-legged vithran ate up the ground cover at a surprising rate even at an unhurried pace, and it was less than three kilometers to the glade. They were almost there when Kirk found himself studying Peth and comparing her to the mount that swayed beneath him, and to what he remembered of the full-sized dragons. The vithran had much in common with the dragon, clearly a related species. The forelegs were higher and had become wings, and the hips were obviously different so that she could walk upright, but the general shape of the head, body, and tail were quite similar, even down to the tiny spines that tracked the length of the neck and tail. Peth wasn't even really that much larger – it was the wings that took up so much space.

Peth leaned in to flutter cat-like, lashless eyes at him with a simpering little croon, and Kirk realized he'd been staring. He laughed and blew her a kiss. He caught Trin's expression, and couldn't help himself. "Interspecies love is pretty common where I come from," he said casually and leaned forward to look across Trin's chest at Spock. The half-Vulcan narrowed his eyes at him, daring him to comment on his heritage, so he looked back at Trin quickly before he could give in to temptation.

Trin stared at him, then looked down at Peth. Kirk bit the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face as Trin tried to give the concept serious thought, trying to figure out how it could be… possible to… It was the dragon that gave out first, tucking her chin to her chest with a low rumble. Trin scowled and smacked her between the shoulder blades, and the rumble grew louder as the rider turned his glower upon Kirk.

"Sorry, but the look on your face was just priceless," Kirk said, grinning like a fool as they broke out of the forest and into the clearing.

The smile suddenly faded into a look of shock as Jolan and Nameless both drew their weapons and kneed their mounts forward to protectively flank them.

The long, blue-green grass of the glade was trampled flat and the Copernicus was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Spock cast his eyes around the edge of the forest surrounding the glade. "There are no tracks wide enough to indicate the shuttle was removed by land."

As one, six heads looked up at the sky.

Kirk squinted at the morning sun shining down on them through the gap in the woods. When he'd chosen their parking space, he'd had no reason to take into account how visible it would be from an aerial perspective. The Copernicus would have been ridiculously easy to find on dragonback, even by moonlight. And although the evidence seemed to confirm it, Kirk couldn't help looking at Spock in some disbelief. "Are you suggesting the shuttle was _lifted_ out of here?"

Spock raised a prim eyebrow. "I am suggesting nothing, Captain. I merely state the facts."

Kirk looked up at the sky again, and then back at Spock. "Do you have any idea how much a shuttlecraft _weighs_?" He held up a hand as Spock opened his mouth, no doubt to inform him of exactly how much a shuttlecraft weighed. "Never mind."

"Is it much different than a Klingon machine?" Trin asked, looking between the two Starfleet officers.

Kirk bristled slightly at the insinuation that anything belonging to his ship might resemble Klingon technology, but he shoved it down. "No."

Trin nodded, and shifted slightly in the saddle. The dragon turned and carried her rider toward the center of the clearing, where a crushed square of grass marked the absent shuttle. Kirk and Spock's vithran, guided by the reins Trin still held, obediently followed after them while their two guards began circling them on their mounts, swords still drawn. "See, there?" Trin asked, and pointed at the ground.

Kirk looked where indicated, but saw only gouges dug in the earth around the flattened vegetation. The ground suddenly swam before his eyes and saliva flooded his mouth. He was _not _going to puke over the side of this lizard-horse, and concentrated on not falling out of the saddle.

"Something was inserted under the shuttle?" Spock asked, casting a quick glance at his captain.

"Yes," Trin answered, still studying the ground. "One of their flying machines fell out of the sky, and the Klingons used something called an anti-gravity machine to carry it away. It didn't work right either, and the Klingon blamed the _sun_ for the failure of both machines." Trin laughed at that, as though it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Their machines were constantly breaking down," he added, and gave Peth an affectionate pat. "Dragons are much more reliable."

"Remind me not to fire Scotty," Kirk said with a weak smile, then swallowed again and hunched forward slightly.

"Aye, sir," Spock answered, and was rewarded with a slight widening of the smile.

Trin glanced between them in confusion, but Kirk said nothing more and Spock raised an eyebrow at the rider. "It took several of their gravity machines," Trin continued, "but they eventually got it back to their ship." He pointed at the ground again. "These are the same markings."

"We need to return, my Lord – now," Jolan said in no uncertain terms as he passed by them in his circuit, his vithra snorting nervously as it responded to its rider's apprehension. The soldier's eyes darted up to the sky and into the woods as though he expected them to be attacked at any moment.

Spock glanced at his captain when there was no reply. "Agreed," the Vulcan answered for him.

This, at least, was something that Jolan's so-far unnamed companion was comfortable with. He instantly moved to take the lead, and Trin and Peth followed, leading the two vithran. Jolan dropped back, and their escort shifted to keep them centered as they re-entered the woods, constantly scanning the trees and the sky for trouble.

"This might be a problem," Kirk muttered softly as their mounts jogged side by side again at the ends of their tethers.

Spock said nothing at this understatement. It would appear that the Klingons had not entirely left Veyga. There was also the fact that, without the shuttle's subspace transmitter, they had no means of contacting the Enterprise. Even if the ship were directly in orbit, their communicators did not have the capacity to break through the energy distortion. These problems, however, faded into the back of his mind with the label of 'potential'.

Of more immediate concern was the missing medkit, and Spock looked at his captain discretely out of the corner of his eye. Kirk's left hand was tucked against his stomach, fingers curled loosely into his bloodied palm, and his other was white-knuckled where it gripped the pommel of the saddle. Their return to the city was set at a much quicker pace than their departure, and the vithran were not a species gifted with a particularly smooth gait. Although Kirk tried to conceal it, his breathing was strained and uneven as they made their way through the forest. These injuries distressed Spock more than they logically should, for he knew that they were not fatal and that his captain could deal with them.

No, it was the indications of illness that had settled a cold chill in his chest. It was highly probable that his tricorder had been crushed in the cottage, but Spock resolved to make an attempt to retrieve it as soon as possible. They had no way of telling how harmful this illness might be without it, and without the medkit they had no way to treat it short of relying on this primitive world's understanding of medicine – much of which might not apply to human physiology.

Spock banished the surge of alarm at the thought, and looked away from his captain to join their guards in searching the woods. Whatever forces were working against them, however, made no appearances and they traveled in grim silence as they rode out of the forest and through the city. Jolan did not sheath his sword until they were past the Court gate, and even then his shoulders remained tense as they made their way back to the stable.

Spock released a quiet sigh as the building came into sight, for he would have preferred to walk. The feel of this animal beneath him, muscles shifting against rather sensitive areas of his anatomy as it moved, was entirely too intimate. The vithra seemed equally displeased by the situation, and so Spock was of the firm belief that both of them were quite relieved when they stopped outside the stables.

The Lady Tara was waiting for them.

She was sitting regally upon a bale of hay at the entrance, fingers laced together over her crossed knees. Her hair was done up in an elegant silver coif, and her gown was a richly embroidered, burgundy bodice and full skirt. The girl Caya was standing beside her, the healer's medicine bag at her feet. Both regarded the group with cool indifference as they pulled up. Kirk straightened in the saddle, quelling his rebellious stomach as best as he could. The Veygans were a tall, powerfully built race and he didn't like the idea of looking small and fragile. Trin groaned softly, and Peth emitted what sounded very much like a quiet whimper.

"Well, at least you're _aware_ you've done something stupid," the woman snapped peevishly. "Here I am, up at the crack of dawn – and where are my patients?"

"My Lady," Kirk said with his best smile. He had no desire to get anyone into trouble over their fruitless trip. "The fault is entirely mine. I insisted on going to our shuttle."

Tara turned cold eyes upon him, but Kirk's smile only widened.

She tilted her head, an impressed smile slowly replacing the indignant glare. "Well, I might be old, but I'm not dead," she said as she got to her feet and smoothed down her skirt. "You're quite a charmer, even if you do look like walking death." Kirk blinked, not quite certain how to respond to that, but she didn't give him time to come up with a reply. She made a short beckoning gesture. "Now get down from there, you both look ridiculous."

Kirk glanced at Spock, and gave his raised eyebrow a one-shouldered shrug as Trin obediently slid down from Peth's back. The rider steadied Spock's mount with soothing caresses while the Vulcan climbed out of the saddle, then gave the animal a light slap on the rump. It trotted toward the stable without any further encouragement. Trin took hold of the bridle and gently petted the wide, leathery muzzle of Kirk's vithra as the captain dismounted.

Kirk landed awkwardly, having misjudged the distance in a sudden fit of vertigo. He stumbled sideways, falling against the vithra's flank, and Spock was moving even before he was aware of making any conscious decision to do so. The animal rumbled in alarm, tossing its head and stamping its feet with an angry snort, and it was all Trin could do to keep a grip on the reins and prevent the vithra from bolting. For the second time in less than twelve hours, Spock found himself bodily pulling his captain away from thrashing, clawed feet. They staggered a few steps before Spock regained his footing and balanced them both, and Kirk braced himself against his first officer's hip as he battled down the rush of nausea.

"Move!" Tara barked. Kirk looked up to see the healer batting in annoyance at Jolan, who had ridden over to act as a buffer between them and the panicked vithra. Peth had sidled up alongside the beast, one wing canted up and over its back in an oddly comforting gesture, and the vithra calmed somewhat. "Senseless creatures," Tara muttered as Jolan obeyed and Trin and Peth led the rumbling vithra into the stable.

Spock stiffened at his side and Kirk suddenly found his chin seized in a thick hand as Tara turned his face upwards so that she could look at him. Annoyed at the treatment, he jerked out of her grasp and pushed away from Spock. He could feel the tips of Spock's fingers brush lightly on his back as he wobbled, but he remained standing on his own.

"This is not the atartha. Tell me the symptoms," she demanded.

Kirk debated about how truthful he should be. He didn't like admitting to weakness at the best of times, but he was beginning to consider Veyga hostile territory and allowing anyone to know the true extent of their problems would be a tactical mistake. A couple days, and the Enterprise would have finished her delivery and returned. Probably sooner, if he knew Scotty. He'd be able to hold out that long. They could—

"Fever, headache, dizziness, nausea, and stiffness," Spock said quietly.

Kirk glared at his first officer, who had no doubt considered all the same factors, come to the same conclusion, and overruled him before he could say anything. Spock lifted his chin a fraction at the silent reprimand, but offered no apology. Kirk turned back to Tara, trying to think of some way to salvage the situation, but the healer was looking over her shoulder and gesturing at Caya.

The girl picked up the heavy canvas bag and brought it over, clutching it to her chest so that Tara could access it. "The fever and dizziness are not symptoms of the dart," she informed them as she rummaged in the bag and withdrew a rather large syringe. "But those symptoms are common – I'll need a blood sample to narrow it down."

"That might not be necessary," Spock instantly spoke up, eying the instrument with a measure of distaste. It was obviously designed for the much larger inhabitants of Veyga, and the idea of his captain losing any more blood than he already had was… undesirable. "There is a machine in the accommodations where we were staying that might still be functional."

Tara didn't seem the least phased by this information, and dropped the syringe back into the bag. "Well, hurry up then, get rid of those beasts," she said, and gave the two guards an imperious wave of her hand. Jolan looked to Kirk for confirmation, and the captain nodded. Trin and Peth had returned, and watched in silence as the soldiers dismounted. Trin took both sets of reigns from the them, then stood as if uncertain. Tara flicked a dismissive gesture at the rider. "Go on, tend to your precious vithran," she said with a sigh. Trin bowed before leading both into the stable, Peth at his side.

"It is beyond me why he dotes on those creatures so much," she muttered as she led the way in the general direction of the Court's guest suits. "But I suppose that's what's always made him such a good stable hand." She raised her voice suddenly without looking back. "And if any of those stitches were torn, I'll skin you alive!"

Either Trin didn't hear her, or had the sense to remain silent.

They didn't walk with any particular urgency, but the muscles in Kirk's legs felt like they were on fire by the time they had crossed the courtyard to what remained of the Court's guest cottages. It occurred to him that he might be in worse shape than he thought himself to be, and he glanced at Spock. The Vulcan's tense expression softened at the contrite look Kirk offered as apology, and he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment.

The building they had been staying in had been completely demolished. Not only that, but the two buildings beside it were also ruined, the sides closest to theirs having been smashed in as if by a great fist while leaving the remainder of the buildings unscathed.

"What happened to the other ones?" Kirk wondered aloud.

"We had just returned from the road," Jolan spoke up, coming up to stand beside Kirk to gaze at the wreckage. "The Shadowguard dragon had been injured in the collapse of the cottage, and wasn't able to fly to escape." He gestured at the smashed in buildings. "Put up quite a fight before the Court soldiers managed to tranquilize it."

"You mean it was captured?" Kirk asked, and shared a quick look with Spock.

"Well, yes my Lord, and the rider as well – found him unconscious outside the cottage." He gestured offhandedly beyond the walls of the Court and towards the rising sun. "They are both being held at the Vanguard Keep."

"It is possible he might know the location of the Copernicus," Spock said softly, confirming Kirk's own thoughts.

"We'd like to talk to him," Kirk said, trying to make the demand sound as much like a request as he could.

Jolan looked uncomfortable. "That would be a matter for Lord Varen to decide, my Lord," he said.

Kirk nodded, and decided not to push the issue right now. Instead, he looked back at the crumbled remains of the cottage. "You really think the tricorder might have survived that?" he asked of his first officer.

"I shall endeavor to determine that, Captain," Spock said. He gestured for Jolan to follow him, describing what they were looking for as they walked.

Nameless suddenly drew his sword, and Kirk followed his wary gaze. A group of people were crossing the courtyard, too far away to determine their identity. Whatever Kirk might think of the soldier, he certainly couldn't fault him for his vigilance. As they drew nearer, however, Nameless sheathed his weapon and returned to scanning the area for danger. After a moment, Kirk recognized the stooped figure of the Savant walking beside the tall, military bearing of the Keeper. They were escorted by half a dozen men, their chain mail armor glittering in the sunlight.

"Fair morning, Federation Captain," the Keeper called as they approached. Tara and Caya both brought their wrists to their foreheads and bowed, the girl dropping nearly to the ground. Kirk hesitated for a moment before making the same gesture.

The Savant struggled to hide a smile and the Keeper was taken by a sudden fit of coughing.

"No, no, you idiot," Tara said in annoyance, seizing his wrist and pulling it away before releasing it. "That is a woman's salute, you look like a moron. You _bow_," she said, and demonstrated just in case he was too thick to know the meaning of the word. "This," she added, touching the inside of her wrist first to her forehead and then to her chest, "is the salute of a swordsworn man."

"My apologies, Keeper," Kirk said with a wry smile as he bowed.

The Keeper grinned at him. "Not a problem, Federation Captain. Probably the most amusing thing I will see for some time."

Kirk sighed, but decided there were worse mistakes to have made.

The Savant leaned against his staff and watched Spock and Jolan cautiously pick their way through the rubble. "What are they doing?"

"Searching for a device that was left behind when we were attacked," Kirk answered, narrowing his eyes as he looked on. The wreckage didn't look very stable, and he would have preferred not to risk his first officer's safety to retrieve the tricorder. But he had to admit that without the shuttle, the Enterprise, or their phasers, the tricorder was far too useful a tool to simply abandon without making certain it was beyond recovery.

"Well," the Keeper said, and Kirk redirected his attention. "You should know that the last member of the council should be arriving by dragonback—"

"We shall never hear the end of his complaints," the Savant muttered dourly, and glanced heavenward at the Keeper's stern glare.

"_Arriving_," the Keeper continued, "by morning's end – early afternoon at the latest."

"Thank you," Kirk said. He really didn't want to deal with Varen if he could avoid it, and he was pretty sure this man outranked the captain of the guard in at least some areas. "Our shuttlecraft is missing," he said, figuring the information would get out anyway. The Keeper blinked in surprise and the Savant sighed with dismay. "I'd like to talk to the Shadowguard rider captured last night to see if he knows anything about it."

The Keeper rubbed a hand at his jaw, the short beard scratching roughly against his palm. "Well, that was where we were headed before we saw you out here." He paused and frowned. "I see no harm in you putting your questions to him. We will wait."

"Shouldn't be long, one way or another," Kirk assured him, and went back to watching Spock and Jolan.

Spock glanced again at the group of men surrounding Kirk, but he could detect no tension in his captain's stance. If anything, he seemed pleased. Spock kept one ear tilted in their general direction, for although he was too far away to distinguish the actual words he could still hear tone. He knew that they were searching in the correct portion of the wreckage, but had so far been unable to locate the missing tricorder. It had no doubt been knocked from the table and sent flying, but he was certain it could not have gotten very far.

"Here, is that it?" Jolan said, and Spock looked to where he was pointing.

A corner of the dark metal was just visible, wedged beneath a fallen timber. "Yes," Spock answered and they carefully made their way over to it. The tricorder itself was trapped in a gap and not crushed, but it required the combined strength of both men to lift the beam enough for Spock to get an arm under it and slide the machine out. He brushed off a layer of white plaster dust and gave it a quick visual inspection. The screen had a crack that ran diagonally across its surface, but did not appear to go all the way through. There was a sizable dent in the bottom left of the casing, but, again, did not appear to be too bad.

It was against regulations to permanently alter Starfleet issued equipment. Shortly after James T. Kirk took command, however, Spock had found himself accompanying the captain on away missions far more often than he was accustomed to. He also found himself adapting his tricorder more and more often to suit increasingly bizarre circumstances that he had never before encountered in all his combined years in Starfleet. According to regulation, it was required to return the machine to standard operational specifications upon a mission's completion, but the captain of the Enterprise had more than once encouraged his science officer to… neglect to do so. Starfleet had initially objected, but had given up in the face of one starship captain's refusal to allow human standards to apply to a Vulcan officer.

And so there was one tricorder in Starfleet that surpassed all others.

Spock suppressed an illogical surge of pleasure when the machine whirred to life and passed a self-diagnostic without incident. Static occasionally flitted across the screen, made worse by the radiation, but the tricorder otherwise seemed no worse for wear. He gave Jolan a nod, and both made their way back to what had become almost a crowd of spectators. Spock inclined his head briefly at the assembly in general, but headed straight for his captain.

"Your little friend all right?" Kirk asked as Spock passed the device over his torso.

Spock looked up with a raised eyebrow. "I am merely grateful that I need not spend long hours rebuilding a new tricorder to replace this one's excellent modifications."

Kirk smiled at him. "Of course, Mister Spock."

Spock studied the readings with a growing sense of dismay. The tricorder confirmed the presence of an infection, but did not recognize the micro-organism polluting his captain's bloodstream. It could be a contagion acquired prior to leaving the ship, that had somehow escaped decontamination procedures and lain dormant, or it was a local variety. The natives were obviously familiar with the concept of technical devices, and he was debating if it would be a breach of the Prime Directive to allow the healer the use of the machine when his arm was suddenly seized and pulled away.

"What does it say?" Tara asked, peering at the cracked screen before waving an irritated hand at it. "This is nonsense. Can this machine show me what it _looks_ like?"

Spock pointedly reclaimed his arm as he nodded, and adjusted the settings so that it would show the readings in a more physical form, as if viewed under a lens. He handed the tricorder to her and she studied the display in thought. Her eyes widened. "There, I recognize that."

Spock inclined his head to see what she was pointing at, and it was indeed the unidentified pathogen. That she had picked it out from what had to be a plentitude of alien elements was impressive. Spock tapped briefly at the tricorder's inputs, and the screen focused on one of the organisms, freezing the image for her.

She frowned at it for a long moment, then shook her head. "I have seen this before, but it isn't something I've ever treated. I'll need to check my journals." Tara glanced between Kirk and Spock. "I must be certain, but if it's what I think it is, then…" she didn't finish the sentence, but instead handed the tricorder back to Spock. She saluted both the Keeper and his Savant before turning and heading away from them without another word, Caya quickly scooping up the bag before following after her.

"Looks like it's homegrown, then," Kirk said as he watched them hurry towards the Court, then glanced at Spock with a questioning quirk of his eyebrows.

Spock nodded a silent confirmation as he shut off the tricorder and looped the strap over his shoulder.

"You are ill?" the Keeper asked, looking between the two officers with a frown.

"It's probably nothing," Kirk said casually. He would admit the necessity of being honest with the healer, but that was as far as he was willing to go. He glanced at Spock, but the Vulcan merely blinked serenely and folded his hands behind his back.

"Well," the Keeper said, deciding to let the matter go, and instead waved his hand at Jolan and Nameless. "You two are dismissed – return to them for your evening duties." Both soldiers touched wrists to their forehead and chest as they bowed before marching away. "We're taking the coach because Tara is on a rampage today and I will never hear the end of it if I let the old man walk." The Savant scowled at this pronouncement, but the Keeper ignored him as he turned to lead the way. The small army of soldiers moved to surround them as they walked.

A very large carriage was waiting for them just outside the main doors of the Court, drawn by two vithran. It was a bulky, metal and wood contraption, with a narrow platform around it on all sides and many looped, metal rungs studded over its surface. The driver hopped down to open the doors and the Keeper made a gesture for the Savant to enter first, which the old man did with a grumbled complaint. The guards began climbing into position on the shelf-like step surrounding the coach, and used the metal studs as handholds.

Kirk and Spock were motioned to enter next, and found themselves in a cabin that was much smaller than one would expect. The walls had to be half a meter thick on all sides. Even so, however, there was more than enough room on the hard wooden bench across from the Savant. Spock sat next to him, and the Keeper climbed in and settled in beside the Savant. The door slammed closed and a soft click told Kirk the door was securely locked. There were no windows, and the only light came from a small globe embedded in the ceiling of the cabin.

Kirk privately thought it was more like a death trap than a secure mode of transport, but he said nothing. He was grateful just to be off his feet.

It was not a long ride, and soon they were climbing back out of the carriage in front of the Vanguard Keep. It was a very large stone fortress that looked almost identical to the Court of Law. The thick walls surrounding the place were guarded by pale dragons in golden armor and soldiers, much like the Court was for the time being. This, it seemed, was the home of every dragon in the city except for Peth. The guards at the entrance bowed to the Keeper and his entourage as they were admitted into a tunnel that was long enough to need luminescent globes strung from its roof to augment the daylight streaming in from both ends. They emerged into a large, grassy courtyard, with several stone paths branching off into the distance. The Keeper led them down one of these and toward the largest building within the Keep.

The Shadowguard dragon was staked to the ground outside this building.

The dragon's armor had been removed and it was laying flat, held to the ground by a net of thick rope that was anchored into the hard packed dirt. One wing was sticking out awkwardly, partly encased in a splint, and the other was tucked against its body under the net. Its eyes were closed as they approached, and it appeared to be either drugged or sleeping. Spock tilted his head at the dragon in curiosity as they passed, and the Keeper slowed to let him look at it closer. Now that it wasn't moving, it could be seen that it was the same coloring as Peth, a light cream. But every centimeter of its hide was adorned with black swirls mixed with angular geometric patterns, tattooed from the end of its muzzle to the tip of its tail.

"This is the first Shadowguard dragon that's ever been captured in good enough shape to keep alive," the Keeper said. "Might come in handy, with some retraining. The rider, on the other hand," the Keeper added with a sigh, "isn't likely to be of any use to us."

The wide nostrils twitched and the dragon's eyes flew open.

Everyone staggered backwards in alarm as the dragon lurched forward and powerful jaws snapped barely a centimeter from Kirk. Several tethers broke free, and the ropes creaked as they strained to contain the suddenly rabid creature. The Keeper let out a bellow of outrage, calling for guards, and a great many men ran forward. There were loud shouts and a panicked rush to seize the heavy metal stakes that had been ripped from the ground as the dragon thrashed to free itself.

The majority of the net had held so far, however, and the dragon was still pinned to the ground. Spock knew this would not last for long, and quickly stepped in close. It ignored him as it strained to reach Kirk, its long neck fully extended, and the massive joint was within his reach. Spock had to exert an astonishing amount of effort, but the dragon dropped to the ground with a heavy thud that raised a light cloud of earthen dust.

Spock stepped back and looked toward his captain to make certain that he was uninjured, and was surprised by the glint of amusement in his eyes and the sheer _pride_ that was radiating from him. He became aware of the silence then, and looked around. There were men carrying weapons, men still holding thick metal stakes as big around as their arms, men clinging to the ropes in an effort to physically weigh the dragon down.

All frozen in shock and staring at him.

Spock raised an eyebrow, and brushed at the grit that was settling on his borrowed tunic.

"Shall we continue?" his captain said evenly, with a gesture towards the stone building.

The Keeper glanced between Spock and the dragon, opened his mouth as if to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. He gave a wordless nod and led the way.

Kirk leaned in towards Spock as the soldiers moved to surround them as they walked. "I _really_ wish you could teach me that," he whispered.


	8. Chapter 8

Kirk noticed Spock glance back at the dragon as they walked under the stone arch of the building's entrance. The Vulcan's brow had furrowed very slightly when he turned forward again, but he merely gave a tiny shake of his head in reply to the captain's wordless question. Kirk glanced at the hulking guards surrounding them and resisted the urge to press his first officer. He trusted Spock's judgment in not voicing whatever his concern was.

They had barely cleared the heavy wooden doors when Varen and several guards met them in the hallway. The Captain of the Guard did not look pleased to see them.

"That dragon is obviously a Tracker," the Keeper snapped at him. "It should have been bound more securely!"

"Yes, my Lord," Varen said stiffly, clearly chaffing at the rebuke. "Lord Tomlin had insisted that the beast be given extra room for its injured wing. Had I been made aware of your visit, my Lord," he added with a touch of disapproval, "I would not have indulged the Vanguard's healer."

"I do not need your permission," the Keeper replied sharply, and Varen clenched his teeth. "See that it doesn't happen again, Varen – and find out how the Shadowguard managed to get Kirk's scent."

"Pardon?" Kirk asked, and both Varen and the Keeper turned to look at him in surprise. Kirk realized he'd spoken out of turn, but he was determined to be treated as an equal here. "My scent?"

"The dragon that attacked you," the Savant said when both men simply stared at him, "is a Tracker. They are trained to hunt by scent. Somehow, the Shadowguard must have gotten a hold of something with your scent on it, which was given to the dragon to Track you."

"I have already looked into the matter, my Lord," Varen said, looking away from Kirk as though he did not exist. "My sentry reports that Trin is the only one to come in contact with him before they were taken to the guest cottage, and no one else before the Shadowguard attacked."

Kirk frowned at the implication that Trin had sold him out, but he could not contest the fact that he had shaken the man's gloved hand. His instincts cried out at the notion, and Kirk made a short, negative gesture. "No. There must be some other explanation."

Varen finally graced him with his full attention, giving him a hard, calculating stare. Kirk glared back at him. Varen might not be in the Shadowguard's pocket, and he might have the admiration of the soldiers and riders in the Vanguard, but Kirk did not like him. There was something of the bully in this man, a snide lack of respect for people he considered beneath him. Men like that respected power and little else. So Kirk returned the stare, backing it with every ounce of authority and confidence at his disposal.

Varen's eyes narrowed a fraction. "His gloves were missing when I sent my man to check this morning."

Trin hadn't been wearing gloves when they went on their trip to the woods. Then again, he hadn't been wearing any of his riding gear aside from the saddle, which he suspected Peth had been putting on herself before being interrupted, and so Kirk stood his ground. "All that means is that someone got a hold of his riding gloves – not that Trin himself did anything wrong."

"The Shadowguard were very thorough," Spock said. If Kirk had gotten surprised looks for speaking out of turn, it was nothing compared to the almost angry look tossed their way by Varen. Before the man could object, for he clearly intended to, the Keeper waved a hand at Spock to continue. "Not only did they send a dragon, but they had a backup assault force waiting in case that failed. Were it not for Trin sounding the alarm as soon as he heard the Tracker attack the cottage, that assault force would certainly have succeeded. Why would he have done that if he was instrumental in summoning them?"

"Very true," the Keeper said thoughtfully. "I don't think the Vanguard had counted on that, or on Peth. We should all be grateful they have been staying at the Court." He gave Varen a stern look, who said nothing. "It seems more likely that some one else took them. I will speak to Trin when we return to the Court," the Keeper said, and Varen briefly dipped his head in a grudging nod of acceptance. "For now, we are here to question the prisoner."

"As you wish, my Lord," Varen said, and turned to lead the way deeper into the Keep.

They went down two flights of narrow, stone steps that eventually ended at a stout wooden door with a small window cut in it. Varen rapped on the wood, and a face looked out at them from between the metal bars of the window. The face bobbed in surprise, and then the door swung open on rusty hinges to reveal a short, heavily muscled man with thinning brown hair. The Keeper made a gesture, and the army of guards remained behind in the corridor as they were ushered inside. Kirk looked around as they were led down a corridor lined with identical doors. It was a classic dungeon, like something out of the medieval times. The stone walls down here were damp, and the air was heavy with the musty smell of mold. Kirk glanced at Spock, who raised an eyebrow in agreement.

For once, it wasn't _them_ in the dungeon.

The guard unhooked a heavy metal ring full of keys from his belt and picked through them until he had the one he wanted. He entered first, then motioned for the rest of them.

The cell was better than Kirk was expecting. It was fairly dry, and the straw on the floor looked relatively fresh. The place didn't smell too strongly. There was no furniture, and the prisoner was sitting on the floor with one arm chained to the wall. His riding gear had been removed, and he had several new bruises across his face and bare arms, but otherwise looked in fair condition. He raised his head as they entered, and then his eyes went wide at the sight of Spock.

"Demon!" the man shouted, and tried to launch himself to his feet. Varen tensed and moved to draw his sword, but the prisoner's bindings dropped him back to the floor with a thud. "Demon," he hissed again, glaring at Spock.

Spock folded his arms across his chest and raised a single eyebrow in reply to the hostile greeting.

Varen turned to look at Spock with a condescending smile. "Congratulations, Outworlder – you've managed to get the first words out of him since he was brought in."

"Where has our shuttle been taken?" Kirk asked the man.

The Shadowguard's lips pulled back in a feral smile. "You're a dead man, alien. It's only a matter of time. We don't want your filth here," he said and spat on the ground at Kirk's feet.

"A pity," the Keeper said as Kirk turned away.

Kirk met Spock's gaze. He could think of only way, at the moment, to get the information they needed. If his ship was in danger, he'd order anything - taboos be damned. But his ship wasn't under any threat, and so the choice was Spock's. Spock's brows drew together and he unfolded his arms reluctantly, but did not have time to move.

"Kill him," the Keeper said calmly, and Varen drew his sword.

"Now, wait a minute!" Kirk demanded, then stopped in shock as the blade swung around and neatly impaled the rider through the chest.

Kirk stared in horror as Varen withdrew his sword and wiped it clean on the dead man's shirt before holstering it. Kirk shot a scathing glare at Varen, but rounded on the Keeper in fury. "That wasn't necessary!"

The Keeper blinked at him in confusion. "Of course it was," he replied. He gestured at the corpse. "Keeping him alive only invites rescue or runs the risk of escape, and they never talk."

Kirk bit off his angry words. What was done was done. Spock's face, when he glanced at him, was as expressionless as granite, and Kirk knew his first officer was just as appalled – probably much more so – as he was. Aside from the pointless loss of life, Kirk was irritated that they'd lost their chance to locate the shuttle. As much as he didn't want to admit it, finding the Copernicus was beginning to become a priority. If things kept going this way, Spock would end up giving the trade speech to the council.

"I hadn't thought we'd get anything out of him," the Keeper said as though Kirk's outrage was of no consequence. "I was really much more interested in the dragon. As I said, this is the first one we've ever managed to take alive and uninjured enough to salvage. And a Tracker! There hasn't been a Tracker born to the Vanguard in almost two generations!"

"Yes," Varen said, with a thoughtful expression. "With some retraining, this might be a very useful development."

The Savant sighed. "Shame we couldn't find out about your shuttle, though."

"Your transport is missing?" Varen asked with surprise that seemed just a touch forced.

Kirk decided to take a gamble. "Yes," he said, but gave a negligent wave of his hand. "I'm not worried about it, though," he lied, and looked up at Varen with a smile. "At this very moment, my ship is scanning the planet for it."

Varen frowned slightly. "Your ship can see very little of our world, because of our sun," he returned.

"The Federation does not kill its scientists for failures, and so our technology is considerably more advanced than the Klingons," Kirk said calmly. He made a show of absently studying his injured palm, brushing off a few flakes of dried blood. "While the radiation from your sun does cause us some trouble, my shuttle is made from a distinctive metallic alloy that the Enterprise _will_ find, in time," he bluffed. "Even if the Shadowguard disassemble it completely, the metal is still traceable." Kirk crossed his arms and stared straight at Varen with a confident grin. "In fact, I'd say it'll lead us right to their stronghold, or at the very least somewhere important."

Kirk watched as all trace of expression drained from Varen's face, and knew in his gut that he had gambled correctly. Kirk didn't know yet how the Klingons figured into this mess, but now he knew for certain that Varen was somehow involved with the Shadowguard. Varen recovered quickly, though, and it was possible that no one else even noticed the brief lapse. "Let us hope so," he said smoothly, and both the Keeper and the Savant made noises of agreement.

They all turned at the sound of heavy metal-clad boots ringing on the stones in the corridor, and one of Varen's guards appeared in the doorway. He bowed low, and Varen gestured for him to speak. "My Lord," the man said, "the wistor bells are tolling."

"Just what we need," the Savant grumbled unhappily.

"Have their wagon brought directly to the entrance," Varen ordered, and the guard touched wrist to forehead and chest before rushing off.

"Wistor?" Kirk asked.

"A very unpleasant storm," the Savant answered as they were led back the way they'd come.

Kirk glanced back and saw the short guard with the keys start to drag the body out of the room behind them. He looked away. It wasn't the most barbaric thing Kirk had ever seen, but it rated pretty high up there on the list. The Keeper and the Savant's guards rejoined them at the stairs, and Kirk did his best to keep his strained breathing in check as they hurried back outside. The brisk wind that had been blowing all morning had picked up, and the noon sky had been darkened nearly to twilight. Deep toned notes were peeling across the open courtyard from a bell high in a tower. They stood at the entrance, waiting for the wagon.

"My Lord Keeper," Varen said. "Does the council intend to discuss the matter of Trin and Peth?"

The Keeper frowned. "That is not slated until next month."

Varen nodded. "That would normally have been the next council session. However, since a full council is being convened early, it is my right to request a ruling on the matter."

The Keeper sighed wearily. "Yes, Varen. Since you insist, I will add it to the matters to be resolved."

Varen gave a small, polite bow. "Thank you, my Lord," he said. "I must secure the Keep."

The Keeper waved him away with an irritated flick of the wrist.

"You can't blame him, you know," the Savant said.

"I know, I know," the Keeper said. "Just bad timing."

A loud, angry snort drew Kirk's attention to the dragon that was still staked to the ground not far away. He felt sorry for it. Spock cast him a quick, sideways glance and Kirk realized he was asking permission for something. He could usually follow Spock's cues, but at the moment he was drawing a total blank. But he nodded anyway, because Spock would not ask if it wasn't important. Kirk managed to hide his surprise when Spock turned and headed straight for the dragon.

The Keeper instantly scowled, but Kirk held up a hand before he could say or do anything to stop him. "Spock knows what he's doing," he said confidently, hoping he wasn't bluffing.

The Keeper's frown did not fade, but he rested his hands on his hips and made no move to interfere.

The dragon's eyes were open, and went wide with fury as Spock approached. The Vulcan stopped several paces away from the enormous head, and held out one hand, palm down, as though trying to calm the dragon. Kirk realized Spock was going to try a meld, and instantly approved. They couldn't get any information from the dead Shadowguard man, but surely the dragon knew as much as he had. The dragon strained against its bonds as Spock's eyes narrowed in concentration, and Kirk knew the Vulcan was weaving some kind of mental touch even from a distance. The dragon huffed in confusion, but relaxed and Spock walked slowly closer. He knelt on the ground and gently rested one hand on the side of the dragon's head. It blinked with uncertainty, but then its eyes slid closed and a low, content rumble vibrated from its throat.

"_Is_ he a demon?" the Savant whispered beside him, and Kirk glanced away just long enough to catch the man's expression.

There was no fear, no anger, just curiosity, and so Kirk looked back at Spock with an enigmatic little smile. "He's been called worse."

It didn't take long, and Spock was silent for the duration. Spock had gotten good at these mind melds, and didn't talk out loud any more, or show any expression from what transpired. When he was finished he withdrew his hand and stood, staring down at the dragon for a long moment. The tattooed head tilted slightly, looking up at him adoringly, and a long tongue lolled out in a way that reminded Kirk of the family dog back on his uncle's farm. But despite the dragon's obvious lack of malice, Kirk felt his muscles suddenly tighten as Spock turned and walked stiffly back to the group. Even from this distance Kirk could see the tension in his first officer's shoulders and back.

Spock was angry.

It took a lot to make Spock angry. Whatever it was, however, would have to keep because the coach was rumbling up to them. Its wheels were too far apart for the cobblestone path, and were tearing ruts into the grass on either side. The vithran were clearly nervous, shaking their scaly heads and bleating anxiously at the darkening sky. They piled into the carriage, which lurched into motion moments after the door was secured.

They traveled in silence for a while before Kirk became aware of the Keeper fidgeting slightly, constantly glancing between the two officers.

"Ah, Federation Captain," the Keeper said finally, several minutes later, and Kirk raised an eyebrow at him to continue. "I intended no disrespect by assigning you guards from my Court," he said somewhat awkwardly. The Keeper's eyes flicked toward Spock briefly before continuing. "It had seemed that you had insulted my Court by traveling with only one guard, but I see now that I was in error. I will see to it that the two given to you are assigned elsewhere."

At the time, it had seemed like the act of a gracious host but Kirk suddenly realized now that having been assigned guards from the Keeper himself had been intended as a return insult, of sorts. An insult to Spock, specifically. Kirk stiffened in his seat, but felt pressure against the side of his boot and glanced to his right. The Vulcan did not look at him, but Kirk got the distinct impression that Spock was fairly screaming 'shut up now!' Kirk never took insults to Spock lightly, but he let it slide this time in the interests of diplomacy.

Instead, he gave a nod to accept the apology. "I'd like to retain Jolan, if possible," he said, because he liked having some one around that he could ask about customs.

"Jolan?" the Keeper said with surprise.

"Yes," Kirk confirmed, then added, "Is that a problem?"

"Well, no," the Keeper said with a slight shrug. "But he's from one of the outer provinces. Not a bad sort, and he came highly recommended by the garrison commander there, but he's proven to be a bit… forward at times. Noril is much more professional."

Kirk smiled. "Where I come from, initiative is the mark of command potential."

"Well said, Federation Captain!" the Keeper boomed happily, and thumped his fist upon his knee while the Savant sighed slowly. Clearly, both Veygans were relieved that the misunderstanding was being forgiven. "Then he is yours for as long as you wish," the Keeper said.

"Thank you," Kirk said, not the least bit disappointed with not having to see Nameless – Noril – again. The idea of Spock being thought of as his personal body guard, and a demon body guard at that, was more than a little amusing. But he supposed, under the circumstances, it was best if they believed that. The Shadowguard were obviously well informed and well organized to have set up that attack within just a few hours, not to mention finding and hauling away the Copernicus.

He still refused to believe that Trin and Peth had anything to do with that. "What matter concerning Trin was Varen talking about?" Kirk asked.

The Keeper sighed. "Something has to be decided about the boy, and I had hoped to have that extra month. But I suppose Peth is as big as she's going to get, so Varen does have the right to put the matter of Trin's station to the council."

Spock blinked. "Peth is full grown?"

The Keeper stared at Spock with indignation, and Kirk decided to nip that in the bud right then and there. "You will regard my second in command with the same courtesy as you would myself," he said firmly.

The Keeper glanced between the two Starfleet officers. "I see," he said, and his eyes showed a measure of respect as he gave a small bow from his seat. "My apologies. To answer your question," the Keeper continued, giving Spock a polite nod, "She has not grown a single span in the last two months." They were clearly meant to assume that meant she was full grown. Kirk and Spock shared surprised glances, but the Keeper continued. "All of the Court guards adore Trin, and they way they treat him, you'd think he was officially a Rider. I don't even know why the boy has applied for the station, though – Varen despises him."

"He seemed respectful enough," Kirk said slowly, then held his breath on a sudden pang in his chest as the wagon went over a large bump in the road.

The Savant sighed. "Oh, he's polite in public – too polite. Embarrassingly polite, if you catch my meaning," he said. "The people love him, and Varen wouldn't risk upsetting them too much. Trin's like some sort of hero figure right now – what child hasn't dreamed of being a Rider? But it's a matter of station, and Trin's born to simple country folk. That's what's to be decided by the council. And if they vote in his favor – that boy will be the first dragon rider born outside the Lineage."

The Savant's answer only made more questions, but there was no more time. The wagon stopped with a bone-jarring lurch, and moments later the door was being swung open. The storm clouds were low and threatening and the wind had picked up even more, rushing dried leaves about them as they hurried to get inside. Bells identical to those at the Keep were ringing, tolling the same rhythm.

The Keeper turned to Kirk as soon as they had cleared the doors. "I'll have some food and drink sent up to your rooms while we wait for the council." Kirk nodded as the Keeper added, "In the meantime, I have matters I must attend to. You will be summoned when the council is ready." And with that, he turned way and headed down one of the many corridors branching off the room. The Savant glanced back at them with an apologetic little shrug, then hurried after him.

Kirk glanced at Spock, the two of them left alone as the clanking of the guard's feet faded away. "This is a very interesting culture," Kirk said.

Spock said nothing, and Kirk frowned. Spock was very good at concealing his emotions, but Kirk was very good at reading this particular Vulcan. The tension had not abated one bit, and so Kirk led the way back to their quarters without another word. The moment the door closed, Kirk spun around on Spock. "What did you find out?" he demanded.

Spock tensed even farther, taut as a bowstring. "The dragon was not present when the Copernicus was taken, but she had memories of a large cavern in the mountains. I do not believe it could be reached by foot. She had many memories of flying in mining equipment and hauling away excavated rock. Some of her more recent memories of the place include technology that I recognize as Klingon."

Kirk scowled. "So they _are_ involved."

Spock hesitated. "I am not certain. Jisson had no memory of Klingons, except from a distance." Spock thought for a moment longer, studying images in his mind. "Captain, I believe the equipment was stolen from the Klingons, or abandoned by them when they left the planet."

Kirk considered the possibility that the Klingons really had completely left Veyga. It was a strange thought.

"A cavern in the mountains…"

"Very deep within," Spock added. "At the end of construction, Jisson walked a good distance back and forth down the tunnel, with insufficient placing of the light-globes."

"Deep enough to block the solar radiation?" Kirk asked.

Spock considered this, then raised an eyebrow. "Very possibly."

"They're studying it, Spock," Kirk said suddenly, with absolute conviction. "The Klingon equipment. Reverse engineering."

Spock nodded in agreement. "Once they became aware that there was radiation from the sun interfering with science, it would be logical to tunnel into a solid structure to block it."

"Well, I have to admire them for that, at least," Kirk said.

"It is only a matter of time until they gain superior technology and overthrow the Vanguard."

Kirk sighed. "There must be something we can do… this would never have happened if the Klingons hadn't broken the Prime Directive."

Spock did not answer, but they both knew that anything they did might only make the problem worse. Kirk's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and he felt useless, powerless. It was only a matter of time until an epic war was waged. He could arm the Vanguard equally, if he had some clue what the Shadowguard were coming up with. But he didn't, so he couldn't. He could only hope that they failed in their attempts and threw away their stolen merchandise.

But even if they couldn't yet duplicate the technology, they did know how to use at least some of it – the missing Copernicus was proof enough of that. He thought of Trin and Peth and Jolan and Tara and Caya – and what a single Klingon disruptor could do if they got it working in this environment. "We can't let it happen, Spock," he said.

Spock bowed his head, but said nothing as he turned away. He could not condone breaking the Prime Directive if that was what his captain deemed necessary… but Spock had very privately come to believe that he could not stop him, either. Spock had never disobeyed a direct order before having met James T. Kirk. In the years since then, however, Spock had learned much about 'grey areas'. Sometimes, he missed the simple days of clear-cut black and white logic.

Kirk watched as Spock crossed the room and began picking up the books that had hit the floor before they'd left. Kirk mentally cringed as Spock carefully unfolded a page that had been creased in the fall, for both of them treated books with a certain reverence. Something was still bothering Spock. "Spill it, Spock," he said.

Spock looked up, and his fingers stilled on the book. "There is insufficient data to—"

"I'm not in the mood," Kirk barked, and Spock's expression went completely blank. Kirk regretted his tempter, but he didn't apologize. He knew Spock didn't like sharing what he considered off-the-wall theories without enough proof to back them up, but nine times out of ten Spock was right and Kirk didn't have the patience right now to humor the Vulcan.

Spock swallowed. "That dragon was severely mentally handicapped, little more than an animal." Kirk shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Melding with that kind of mind had probably been somewhat… unsettling. If that was what was bothering Spock, then Kirk felt like a heel for calling him out on it. But Spock shook his head as if he had somehow heard Kirk's thoughts. "I have reason to believe that _all_ of the dragons are similarly afflicted."

"You're sure?" Kirk asked in disbelief, and instantly wished he could retract the question. Of course he wasn't sure, or else he wouldn't have had to drag it out of him.

Spock hesitated, his fingers brushing absently over the edge of the book. "I would prefer to scan each individual with a tricorder, but judging from the behavior I have observed at the Keep and from the dragons station here at the Court, I am reasonably certain of my conclusion. Despite her handicap, the captured dragon was considered intelligent for her kind, if the Keeper's reaction to having acquired her is any indication."

Reasonably certain might as well translate as fact, Kirk knew. "What could possibly cause that?"

"Unknown, Captain," Spock said as he set the book on the desk and bent to retrieve the others. "I intend to search the data here for an explanation."

"But Peth…" Kirk started, then trailed off.

Spock looked up, and raised an eyebrow. "Peth is as sentient as you or I. She is a perfectly healthy example of her species and, I suspect, possibly the only one."

"Spock, there's no way an entire species can be retarded, with _one_ exception," Kirk said.

"Not naturally, no," Spock agreed as he slid a closed book back into place on a shelf.

"Maybe Peth is genetically engineered, and the other dragons are the equivalent of chimpanzees," Kirk suggested as he sat on the couch and began removing his boots. They'd only been away for a few hours at most, but he felt like he'd been walking for a week.

Spock paused in the act of opening a book, considering the notion. "Possible," he said. "It is also possible that the dragons themselves were engineered from the vithra. It is also possible that they are simply related, and evolved naturally."

"You're saying the Veygans and the dragons could have evolved simultaneously?" Kirk asked. He set his boots off to the side and wriggled his toes in the oversized socks, enjoying the temporary feeling of freedom.

"It is not unheard of for a world to develop more than one intelligent species," Spock said. "The dinosaurs of Earth might well have evolved far ahead of humans had their environment not been drastically altered too fast for them to adapt, as an example. Without a tricorder scan of the vithra, the dragons, and Peth with which to make comparisons, I can do little more than conjecture," Spock said, and Kirk could detect more than a hint of frustration in the Vulcan's voice.

Kirk sighed and flopped back into the couch. The piece of furniture seemed to envelope him as he sank into the padding.

"One thing is certain, however," Spock said, his voice sounding like it was coming from very far away. "Trin and Peth have worked very diligently to conceal her intelligence."

Kirk pried his eyes open. "What?"

"There is sufficient evidence," Spock clarified, "to warrant the conclusion that, although people recognize Peth as above average, she is not considered sentient. This belief can only exist if she allows it to. Therefore, she has hidden her true capacity."

"Are you saying she acts like an animal?" Indignation was chasing away his weariness, and he struggled to sit up from the clinging embrace of the too-comfortable couch.

"I believe she attempts to do so, under most circumstances."

"Spock, there's no way that anyone who spends any time at all in her presence can fail to notice that she's _not_ an animal!" Kirk objected.

"There are many animal species that endear themselves to humans and result in strong emotional attachments. Many treat them and talk to them as though they were people. Your Earth canines have been domesticated for centuries for labor and companionship. They are intelligent creatures, possessing a relatively large workable vocabulary and can be trained to perform a variety of skills and tasks. But if a canine did something uncannily human, the average person would think the animal simply extremely well trained, or perhaps just a fluke of personality. Certainly not sentience. These people are accustomed to thinking of dragons in those terms, so anything they might observe Peth doing would simply be explained away as a clever imitation."

"Spock… Are you saying…?"

"Yes, Captain," Spock said with certainty. "The people of Veyga think of Peth as nothing more than an exceptionally bright dog."

Kirk stared at Spock as he placed another book on the shelf. The Keeper seemed confident that the captured Shadowguard dragon could be trained to work for them, so there didn't seem to be a great deal of loyalty expected of the dragons to a particular rider. Therefore it must be possible for Peth to have a rider other than Trin, if his station was too low. But if people thought she was just an animal, an undesirable runt, then it was more likely that they would allow Trin to 'keep' her. Although how they'd gotten into that situation in the first place was still a mystery.

"They must be afraid of being separated," Kirk said.

Spock paused, and glanced at him briefly before settling into the desk chair and opening a book. "I do not pretend to understand the motives involved."

Kirk snorted, but didn't comment. Instead, he heaved himself to his feet because he was pretty sure the couch was leeching the life out of him. He paced for a few moments, trying to get some circulation flowing. His legs felt like they were on fire, and he held his hand up to look at it as he flexed the fingers. The little puncture wounds had sealed over, but the skin felt tight and the joints were stiff. He left Spock to his books while he went to the adjoining bathing room and washed off the dried blood.

Spock was still pouring over a thick volume when he went back to the main room, and the rattling of the window caught his attention. He crossed over to it and parted the thick curtains as the wind howled through the courtyard and shook the glass in the pane. The sky was nearly black now, the thick clouds hanging so low he felt as if he might be able to reach out and touch them. They looked odd, like smoke more than storm clouds. Kirk stared at the roiling mass, finding it oddly hypnotic.

"Curious," Spock said from right beside him, and Kirk jerked in surprise with a startled gasp. Spock glanced at him briefly, and Kirk looked away with a twinge of embarrassment at having not even heard him approach. Spock said nothing about it, however, and instead held the other panel of the curtain aside and tapped a long finger against the glass. "No lightning."

Kirk looked back at the storm clouds, and realized that Spock was right. Those were certainly thunderclouds he was looking at, but there was no lightning, and hence no thunder. He recalled watching thunderstorms on a variety of different colony worlds. Every time they moved, he had to leave his friends. But no matter what world his mother had been stationed on, thunderstorms were always the same. That made them familiar, like a friend. And so he stared at the eerily silent storm, trying to imagine growing up on a planet with no lightning. He heard a low rumble and thought Spock must have been wrong because there was some thunder after all. It must be very far away, though. It rumbled onward for a little while, until it faded away.

"_Jim_."

Kirk jerked his head around. Spock was staring at him, eyes slightly wider than normal with concern, and he realized Spock must have been talking to him. He opened his mouth to ask him if he knew that he sounded like thunder, but his brain misfired instead and told his knees to give out. He stumbled forward into Spock, who instantly caught him under the arms with inhuman speed. He heard a sound that was something between a gasp and a groan as his ribcage screamed in protest, and everything spun away into darkness.

Spock tried to adjust his sudden armful of captain as he found himself supporting Kirk's full weight. Alarmed, Spock quickly walked backwards toward the couch, half carrying, half dragging the unconscious human clutched against his chest. He laid him out on the cushions, and sat on the edge, scanning him with the tricorder the moment he had his hands free. The readings were extremely discouraging, and Spock had to ruthlessly crush a surge of anxiety.

The list of ailments, both minor and major, glowing softly on the tiny, cracked screen were all taking an enormous toll. The symptoms that he could track to the infection were behaving like some variety of meningitis, but his tricorder could tell him little else. The storm brewing outside the stone walls was either assisting the sun's radiation, or was the result of a radiation spike from the star. Most likely the latter. Kirk had slipped into sleep now, and Spock saw no reason to wake him. He sighed, and shut off the machine.

Kirk shivered beside him, switching from fever to chills. Spock went to the larger bedroom and pulled the cover off the bed, briefly considering moving Kirk instead. But the couch was larger than a standard bunk on the Enterprise, and if Spock was honest with himself he did not want to let Jim out of his sight. He slipped one of the couch's intricately patterned accent pillows under Kirk's head and tucked the oversized blanket snugly around him.

Satisfied that his captain was comfortable, Spock returned to the desk. He glanced over at him every so often, for it was only a matter of time until the chills changed back to fever. In the meantime, he occupied himself by delving into all the historical writings that he could find. The language was a remarkably simplistic one, and having his tricorder at his disposal would make translations even quicker.

His head lifted a few minutes later at a sound from near the door. He cautiously approached, casting a quick look at Kirk as he passed, but whoever was on the other side was taking no care to be stealthy. Spock opened the door, and found Caya standing there with a large tray balanced against her hip and one hand raised to knock. She swallowed, but just stared at him wordlessly. Spock gestured her into the room, and she obeyed hesitantly.

"He's worse, isn't he?" she asked, looking at Kirk, but did not wait for Spock to answer before rushing onward. "My Lady will be here soon, she sent me up ahead with the food that had been ordered."

"She will not have good news," Spock deduced from Caya's expression.

The girl shook her head sadly, and chewed her bottom lip nervously as she set the tray of food on the table. She looked up at him. "Are you really… a demon?"

Word certainly spread quickly around this place. Spock released a slow sigh. "If I denied it, would you believe me?" She thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. "Then why do you ask?"

Caya stared at him, but was spared having to answer because Spock turned away at another sound from the hallway. He recognized the muttering voice instantly, and opened the door.

Tara scowled at him without any show of surprise. "Why in the world are you on the top floor with a sick man?" she complained as she pushed past the Vulcan. She carried a large book tucked under one arm, and a satchel looped over the shoulder of the other. "I should have just let the servants tend to the meal, but I wanted to make sure they did it right," she huffed as Caya rushed forward to relieve her of the heavy bag. "Thank you, child," Tara said as Spock closed and latched the door again.

Tara looked at Kirk and sighed. "Did he fall asleep or pass out?"

Spock did not care for the terminology, but decided against commenting on it. "He lost consciousness thirteen point six minutes ago. He is sleeping now."

Tara stared at him. "Do you always talk like that?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"He's a demon," Caya whispered to her mistress.

"Well, Demon," Tara said with a brief roll of her eyes, "I'm afraid you will have to summon your otherworldly minions from the sky for this one, because his illness is beyond us," Tara said and snorted.

Spock's brows drew together at the callous statement.

Tara sighed. "Have you no sense of humor?"

"No."

"What I mean," Tara explained with exaggerated care, "is that you will have to return to your ship. I'm certain that your medicines can take care of him, but we have no cure. It's a rare childhood disease, and fatal. I've never actually treated a case. I just remembered seeing the image in my studies."

Spock felt a cold lump settle in his stomach.

Tara opened the heavy book to a pre-marked page, and set it on the low table. Spock recognized the drawing on one side as the organism that the tricorder had identified. He scanned the information on the page, and tied in the universal translator. The technical terminology would be problematic, but it might be of use.

"Your ship isn't up there, is it?" Tara asked quietly. "Or at the very least, you can't get back to it right now."

Spock looked up, but did not reply.

Tara's face slowly turned grim. "I thought as much. I've taken the liberty of brewing a batch of trillanberry juice." She gestured at Caya, and the girl rummaged in the bag until she came up with a glass jar full of bright orange liquid. "My own concoction," Tara said as she took it from her and set it on the low table. "Tastes horrible, but it'll help."

Spock passed the tricorder over it, but Tara did not seem offended. To the contrary, she watched intently with open curiosity. It did prove to have promising attributes, so Spock gave her a small nod. Just for good measure, he also scanned the food while she plucked up one of the fluted wine glasses, filled it from the jar, and sat on the edge of the couch. It took a few moments, but she managed to coax Kirk awake long enough to drink it down, upon which he fell back onto the pillow with a small moan and sank back into sleep.

Tara sighed and touched a hand to his forehead, and then looked over at Spock. "That machine," she said, with a small jerk of her chin towards the tricorder. "Can it see anything?"

"Most things, if I understand your question correctly," Spock answered.

Tara stood slowly, as if debating something, and then walked over to where Caya was standing. Tara reached into the bag and pulled out a small jar filled with a white powder and set it on the table next to the book. "I heard you went to the Keep today," she said.

"Yes," Spock confirmed, for he could see no harm in admitting it.

Tara licked her lips nervously. "Did you see many dragons?"

Spock's hands tightened on the tricorder, and he narrowed his eyes at her. "Affirmative."

"Keep this, Demon," she said softly, staring into his eyes with a startling intensity of purpose. "Study it. And you will know our greatest secret, our greatest shame."

She suddenly walked toward the door, as if afraid of what she'd done. Caya snatched up the bag and hurried after her. "Oh," Tara said just as she pulled the door open. "They say the council will convene when Kilfor arrives, but I can tell you now that won't happen. See that he rests, but make sure he takes some of that every six hours or so. I will make more." And with that she was gone.

Spock latched the door closed, and stared at the innocent looking powder.


	9. Chapter 9

Spock scanned the powder, but the radiation was now so strong that the machine was all but useless to him. Spock rubbed the tips of his fingers together against his thumb, for the sensitive skin had begun to tingle slightly. From their orbital scans, there had been no indication that the star produced any rays that were actually harmful to life, but at the time there had been considerably less of it. The reaction of the natives indicated that there was some danger, however, and on a regular enough basis that they had built a warning system.

A faint sound through the window drifted to him, and he parted the curtain to look out into the gloom. A silver dragon had landed in the courtyard, and one of the two passengers was climbing from the saddle. The dragon huddled against the ground, its wings tucked close to its body. The tall figure dashed towards the Court, a bundle flung over his shoulder and bouncing against his back as he ran. He held a hand to his head, keeping a wide hat from being blown away in the fierce, rainless wind.

The rider leaned forward in the saddle, but the beast cowered lower to the ground and refused whatever it was commanded. Surely the rider was not expecting the dragon to _fly_. Spock narrowed his eyes as the rider thumped the dragon angrily on the neck, and though the blow could not possibly have hurt, Spock's keen ears caught the sound of a wail of distress over the roar of the wind. Motion caught his eye, and Spock recognized Trin sprinting from the other direction, waving both arms. But the rider, if he saw him, gave no heed. He pulled the dragon's head around with the reins and struck it on the nose.

But the dragon still refused, lifting its wings over its head as Trin came up to their side. There was a brief argument that quickly grew heated, and then the rider slid down the dragon's side. He angrily tossed the reins at Trin, and stalked towards the Court entrance. Spock watched as Trin led the terrified dragon away, stroking its neck and sides as they walked, the same way he had for the vithran.

Presumably, this marked the arrival of the last member of the Council.

Spock let the curtain fall closed, and silently regarded his captain. If Tara was correct, there would be more time than the Keeper indicated for the Council to assemble. Spock chose not to wake him.

There was no logic in the emotion of frustration, yet that is what Spock had to suppress when he glanced at the jar of white powder. He suspected that an analysis would prove very enlightening. Spock allowed himself a small sigh, and returned to the desk. Several hours passed, and there was no news about the Council. The books had piled around Spock as the Vulcan immersed himself in the history of this world, and the storm outside had grown so fierce that the window rattled constantly by the time Kirk woke with a groan.

Spock laid a hand atop the book he was reading and looked up. Kirk had leaned forward to peer at him from around the arm of the couch. "How long?"

"You have slept for four hours, twenty one minutes," Spock answered.

Kirk made an unhappy noise, and struggled to untangle himself from the blanket. "Spock," Kirk said after he had swung his legs over the edge of the couch and was upright, the word muffled as he rubbed at his face wearily. "Why can't a mission go right, just once?" Spock said nothing, and Kirk's hands dropped heavily into his lap as he blew out a frustrated sigh. "Mathematically speaking, what are the odds of _every_ mission going wrong, in some way or other?" Spock obediently ran the numbers through his mind, and raised an eyebrow. "Exactly," Kirk said without waiting for the answer. "Statistically impossible." Kirk's shoulders slumped as he added, "I'm starting to think Bones has got a –"

Kirk broke off as Spock's gaze abruptly switched to the door. Spock rose before his captain could feel impelled to do so, and was already resting his hand on the metal handle before the knock sounded. Jolan stood on the other side. "Reporting for duty, my Lord," he said simply, then turned broadside to the door in a sentry stance.

"Come inside, Jolan," Kirk's voice called, and the guard blinked in surprise.

Spock stepped back to allow him to pass, but the man paused just past the threshold. "As you ordered, my Lord, I am pointing out that my duties require me to stand guard at the entrance."

Kirk gave a short, tired laugh as Spock closed and locked the door. He waved a hand at the Vulcan as he crossed back to the desk. "Spock will hear anyone if they approach, and I want to talk to you."

"Yes, my Lord," Jolan said, but he was clearly dissatisfied.

Kirk sighed. "Go guard the window, in case anyone decides to scale the wall," he said, and though he had meant the order in a sarcastic light, Jolan happily obeyed with a look of relief. "They don't give you much time to yourself," Kirk commented.

Jolan suddenly shifted his shoulders uneasily and looked away. "I was… awakened early, and found that I could not return to sleep." His gave a casual shrug. "I thought I'd make myself useful." Kirk narrowed his eyes at him, for the man's entire demeanor struck a suspicious red alert, and Jolan hurried on before Kirk could say anything. "The Keeper said you requested me specifically, my Lord?"

Kirk let it go for now. It was probably some personal matter, and Kirk decided to let him keep it that way. He was a man of command, and he was accustomed to being treating with respect. But this constant 'lord' business was starting to grate on his nerves. "Call me Captain," he said. "Or just Sir."

"Yes, my Lord Captain," Jolan replied with a slightly confused frown.

"No," Kirk said. "No lord. Just captain, which is my rank, or sir."

"Yes, my… Sir." Jolan said hesitantly, and glanced around as though he expected to be slain on the spot.

"In answer to your question," Kirk added, settling back into the cushions. "Yes, I did. I like you," he said simply. For some reason Jolan suddenly looked very guilty, and tried to cover it by turning away to part the curtains and peer into the storm outside the window. "And I want to ask you about Trin and Peth."

Jolan looked back in surprise, his head tilted in curiosity. "Trin, Sir?"

Kirk nodded. He knew he shouldn't ask. The less he knew, the easier it would be to walk away. "My orders are to secure a trade agreement with the people inhabiting this part of the world, because the highest concentration of the mineral we want to bargain for is located here. My people have a saying, Jolan," Kirk said with a little smile at the guard. "Knowledge is power. And there's too much I don't know about the situation here."

Jolan nodded in understanding. "We have a similar saying, Sir," he said. He paused, gathering his thoughts, and Kirk took the moment to lift the metal cover of one of the dishes on the table. His stomach had settled down, and he was hungry. The food had grown cold, but it looked to have been prepared with that in mind. There were little rolls with cheese and meat cooked into them, and removing another lid revealed a small platter of pastries. One covered bowl contained a variety of fruit and nuts mixed together.

"It all started before Peth was even born," Jolan began. "You see, Trin was a stable hand – tended to the Vanguard's vithran. But there had been a sickness that year, and many of the egg tenders had fallen ill. Many had died. The stable hands had been assigned to do the more labor-intensive work; stoking the furnaces beneath the sand bowl, raking the sands about the eggs, that sort of thing."

"The parent dragons do not tend to their offspring?" Spock interrupted, looking up from a book.

"Well, no, of course not," Jolan said as though it was a ridiculous question. Then he seemed to recall who he was speaking to. "That is, my Lord, dragons are far too stupid to even raise their own young."

Spock raised a condescending eyebrow. "That is counter to proven laws of evolution."

Jolan looked somewhat confused, but wasn't daring enough to question Spock's statement.

Kirk tossed a mildly reproving glance at his first officer, and swallowed his mouthful of roll. "Surely… _wild _dragons can care for their young?" he asked.

Jolan looked back at him. "There are no wild dragons, my… Sir," he said. At Kirk's surprised expression, he added. "Well, there's dragons as have gone feral, for one reason or another. But their eggs never hatch, because they don't take care of them."

Kirk glanced at Spock, and noted the tension around his eyes and mouth. The more sentient a species became, the more instinct was usually lost. Child rearing became a _learned_ skill, rather than an innate one, and the dragons, retarded as they were, would have no chance of successfully breeding outside captivity.

But neither of them spoke, and so Jolan continued. "Well, the long and short of it was that the vent under Peth's section of the hatchery was clogged, and the man assigned to that area wasn't experienced enough to know it. It didn't keep the sands hot enough. Eight of the eggs in her section had all begun to hatch, and no one had noticed that the other two had already died several days before in their shells. It's said as the stable hands that were there that night, untrained as they were, went into a panic, and it was Trin that was the only one as kept his head." Jolan gestured as he spoke, warming to the subject. He had a natural flair for story telling, and Kirk smiled as he settled back into the couch. At least it would pass the time. "He sent messengers to wake Lord Tomlin, but Peth was in a right hurry to be out of her shell and there's nothing as can stop that.

"She was out by the time the healer and his attendants had arrived, and it's said that Trin fell head over heels for that tiny creature right there on the hatching ground sands. But Peth had cracked her shell too soon, you see, and couldn't hardly breathe. The other seven were in worse shape, and though Trin tried to save them, there wasn't anything that could be done. But Peth, she was the strongest. There wasn't any hope for the little dragon, but Lord Tomlin was fond of Trin, for it was well known that it was Trin's love of animals that made him such an excellent stable hand. He didn't have the heart to pry him away. It's said that twice Trin breathed life back into her that night. He just wouldn't give up.

"Peth was still alive by the time the sun rose, but weak, and didn't look to be improving. Lord Tomlin was forced to command Trin to leave her, believing it to be for Trin's own good, and let nature take its course. He's a decent man, though, is the Vanguard's healer. He dismissed all the guards and servants, and left Trin with her in private, to allow him to say farewell. Well, when he later went in to consol him, they were both gone, and to this day no one knows where they went.

"Now, when an animal is born defective, the most practical thing to do is be done with it," Jolan said, and Kirk frowned at the casual implication that inferior dragons were culled at birth. "But by law, no dragon may be put down if it reaches three months of age. To slay a dragon is a crime punishable by death. And sure enough, not one day past three months had passed when Trin and Peth came striding back into the city. I was on duty that morning, and I'll never forget it. A right lovely little thing, was Peth, perfectly formed but hardly coming up to Trin's waist."

"So, they had to let Peth live?" Kirk asked. He glanced at Spock, who had his nose buried in yet another book, and decided the Vulcan had completely forgotten about the more mundane aspects of existence.

"Oh, more than that," Jolan said as Kirk got to his feet and picked up the bowl of fruit. Jolan paused, and his eyes followed the captain as he crossed the room and set it on the desk in front of Spock. Spock looked up, noted the stern gaze, and then looked down at the bowl as Kirk returned to the couch. Spock could find no logical reason to protest the implied order, but he believed obtaining the knowledge in these books would be the better use of his time. He released a small sigh, and reluctantly selected one of the fruit. He'd long ago given up the Vulcan preference for using only utensils when eating as being too impractical, but it still displeased him to do so. Satisfied, Kirk picked up another roll and waved at Jolan to continue as he bit into it.

"Hatchlings are fed special food," Jolan said, "to help them grow strong and healthy. But Peth hadn't been given this, and so she was, well, stunted. No rider would ever claim such a dragon, but she _is_ a dragon and so it was illegal to dispose of her. Only Trin was willing to claim her, but Lord Varen refused to allow him into the ranks. The problem was passed to the Court of Law. You see, no matter what happened, some kind of exception to the law had to be made. No rider wanted Peth, no rider could be forced to take a dragon not of his choosing, and Trin's station was _far _too low to be inducted as a rider. In fact, most of the riders were outraged by the whole thing, and didn't even want Peth in the ranks at all. An embarrassment, they said, to have a runt dragon and a stable boy in the Vanguard."

"The Council of the Court was deadlocked, and a decision couldn't be made. In the end, it was decided to wait and see how large Peth would grow. There was no denying that she was an utterly charming creature, and they hoped some rider might be convinced to take her. There were many as believed she'd die soon enough and solve the problem for them. In the meantime, the Court granted the two of them a place in their stables, because there really wasn't anywhere else for them. Trin certainly can't afford to maintain a dragon on the wages of a stable hand, and the Court could not allow her to starve. So Trin now works for the Court stables."

"So Varen wants the Council to decide on whether or not he has to accept them in the Vanguard?" Kirk asked.

Jolan nodded. "Trin has a way of making friends, and that dragon of his is very endearing. They are both very well liked, and it's no secret that the Savant in particular has taken a liking to them. Aren't many as are willing to go against the Keeper's Savant. Seems to me that the Council almost has to vote in their favor."

"I see," Kirk said thoughtfully.

"This 'special food' you spoke of," Spock said carefully. "It is the cause of the size differential between Peth and the other dragons?"

"Yes, Sir," Jolan said.

"Can you describe it?"

"It is a powder," Jolan answered, "mixed into the ground meat that is fed to all hatchlings." He followed Spock's gaze to the small jar on the low table in front of Kirk, then looked back and added. "That is what it looks like, yes."

Kirk picked up the jar, and tilted it. The fine crystals within looked like salt, or sugar, as they caught the light and shifted. He looked at Spock, and knew they had both drawn the same conclusion. This jar held the answer to not only Peth's size difference, but almost certainly to the question of the retardation. This was deliberately fed to infant dragons, and whatever it was made them grow to two or even three times what was apparently normal. But in return, it stunted their intelligence.

Kirk had no recollection of how the jar – or the food for that matter – had gotten here. He assumed it was while he was sleeping, and felt a stirring of concern that he had slept so soundly through the visit. That was very unlike him. Kirk brushed that thought aside, and looked at Jolan. The guard was frowning, eyes darting between Kirk and Spock as he picked up on the sudden tension in the room. Kirk judged Jolan to be a good man, and so it was obvious that he wasn't aware of the horrific implications of an entire species being subjugated. Jolan thought of them as animals, and it was likely that was the way it had been for a very, very long time.

Kirk set the glass jar back on the table. "Thank you, Jolan," he said. "You may return to your duties guarding the door."

Jolan gave a bow, and quickly moved to obey.

Kirk instantly began to pace fretfully. His entire body was unhappy with that, but he thought better when he was moving. Spock was unnervingly silent at the desk, his eyes tracking Kirk as he moved back and forth from one side of the room to the other until he swung around abruptly and crossed to the window. Kirk rested his hands on the sill and stared off into the distance with a frown. He could see Peth's stable from here, and beyond it he could just make out the towers of the Vanguard Keep in the distant gloom. The true ramifications suddenly struck home with an almost physical jolt.

That intelligent, loyal, brave, charming _person_ was unique because all the others of her kind were treated as animals and deliberately stunted. It was a fluke of luck that she had escaped the same fate. The dragons of Veyga were an entire race of slaves, and the vast majority of the common people were completely unaware of it. They were well treated slaves, respected even, with laws to protect them and care for them, but they were chemically lobotomized at birth and doomed to a life of servitude and dependence.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

One pass of a tricorder and a single word could spark a civil war the likes of which Veyga had not seen since they began recording their history. _That _was what the Prime Directive was designed to prevent. Kirk had known too many captains who had thought to do well and ended up betraying everything they professed to believe. Friends, comrades, men he had respected, driven over the edge by the results of a well-intentioned decision to break this, Starfleet's highest law. Kirk's own service record had several… questionable incidents. Kirk took it on a case by case basis, but overall he did value and respect the underlying purpose of the Prime Directive.

But there was no grey area here. This culture was viable and vibrant. His own people's history was rife with atrocities equally horrendous, and more so. He looked at Spock, twin pools of sympathy in a face carved of stone, and knew that even Vulcan had had its period of barbarism. It was something that all civilizations had to mature through, eventually. And they had to do it on their own. Kirk tore his gaze away from Spock, knowing that his silence would condemn possibly generations of dragons.

"Tara knows," Spock said, breaking the stillness.

"She expects us to do something about it," Kirk said quietly, staring at the stable. The trees in the courtyard were swaying violently from the wind, and the black clouds looked more like liquid boiling than something that should be in the sky. How could he leave things this way? How could he go before the Council, make his offer, then leave this world with or without a trade agreement, and simply ignore this atrocity?

Spock said nothing. He did not state regulations, nor point out the ethics of obeying the Prime Directive. Instead, he silently watched his captain lean forward until his damp forehead rested against the cool glass of the window. Spock had claimed more than once that he had no desire for command, and this was why. Duty and logic solved the dilemma with a deceptive simplicity… but morality dictated another course of action. Kirk was by no means perfect, and did not always make the right choice. And yet Spock knew that whichever path his captain chose, he could not find it within himself to judge him poorly for it.

But Spock also knew that it was only a matter of time until Starfleet Command grew weary of Kirk's questionable actions. Their reaction was always based on the success or failure of his captain's decisions. The first time Kirk failed, it would be his undoing. And Spock knew that he would be right beside him, no matter the consequences. Spock looked away from the tense figure at the window, and stared blankly at the words printed on the page of the book before him. It might all be a moot point, a tiny part of Spock's mind pointed out. If Kirk did not survive until the Enterprise returned, there was nothing Starfleet could do to him.

Spock hastily forced that thought back into a corner of his mind.

The sudden knock on the door made Kirk jump. "Enter," he called, as he waved at Spock to remain seated.

The heavy door swung open and Jolan popped his head into the room. "A messenger has sent for you, Sir," he announced. "The Council is ready to hear you."

Kirk ran a hand through his hair, and glanced down at his borrowed, oversize clothing to check for breadcrumbs. He really wished he was in uniform. But there was no help for it, so he sat on the couch to put his boots back on, and then gestured at Jolan to lead the way.


	10. Chapter 10

A large group of people had assembled in the main hall. The huge chamber seemed crowded now, for each member of the council was accompanied by at least two bodyguards, sometimes more. They were arranged on two sides of the room, leaving the center open. The Keeper sat in the middle seat on the raised dais at the end of the room, with his Savant seated to his right. Varen was on the left. Two other men took up the remaining seats, and Kirk assumed they were people of importance. The entire platform was surrounded by soldiers standing alertly at attention.

The hum of conversation died down as they entered, and everyone turned to regard them with curiosity.

"Well, here goes," Kirk muttered under his breath. His first officer flicked him a quick, sideways glance that was both reassuring and encouraging, and Kirk walked towards the center. No one made any move to stop Spock or Jolan from walking on either side of him. Kirk scanned the room, briefly meeting the eyes of everyone present, before directing his attention to the five men on the raised dais.

"Gentlemen," Kirk said. "I represent the United Federation of Planets, and I have come to offer you a trade." He paused, waiting for some murmurings or whispers, but the assembly was silent. "We seek permission to mine the mountains to the south, and in return we offer medical knowledge that might prove of use to you. We also offer protection from the Klingons, should they decide to return."

"What makes you think we need protection?" one of the men beside the Keeper asked sharply. He looked to be the youngest of the group, and clearly displeased by the insinuation that they were somehow weak.

"Because I know them," Kirk answered simply. "It mean no insult, but there is little you could do if they decided they wanted your world."

The man bristled, but the Keeper waved him down. "Be reasonable, Letra. You know he speaks the truth."

"There has been a sickness for several years," the Savant said, and Letra closed his mouth on whatever he was going to say. "You would assist us with this?"

Kirk nodded. "Federation doctors would be assigned here, and would arrive with the mining teams."

"This mining," the fifth man said. "It would destroy the mountain, would it not?"

Kirk smiled at him. "No. We have methods that would do little harm to the surrounding environment."

"So you say," Varen spoke up at last. "No disrespect intended, but how can we be sure of that?"

Kirk faced him directly. "You can't. You have only my word. But know this," he added, and once again met the eyes of everyone present with a glance around the room. "The Klingons came here and decided to take what they wanted. We will not do the same." Kirk waited a moment more, but no one said anything. The captain held his hands out in a gesture of peace towards the five men on the dais. "This is _your_ world, and the decision is yours. If you want, we will leave and not return."

The Keeper nodded, and looked over the room. "Does anyone wish to speak?" When no one answered, the Keeper made a dismissive gesture. "The Council will consider your words."

Kirk returned to the lobby, and the large wooden doors were closed.

"How long is this likely to take?" Kirk asked, and began pacing.

Jolan, who had been staring at the closed doors, gave a sudden start. He looked nervous, afraid even, but quickly hid it. "Not long, Sir." He looked absolutely miserable as he added, "It seems to me that the majority approved of the trade."

"But you don't?" Kirk asked in surprise, and stopped in front of him.

Jolan would not meet his eyes, and seemed like a man that was about to bolt. "I… I have no say in the matter," he said finally. His eyes flicked back to Kirk, and there was a desperateness to the look that was utterly bewildering. "It would be best if you left Veyga, my Lord. As quickly as you can. _Now_."

Kirk narrowed his eyes at him. Jolan obviously knew something, something that was tearing him apart. But before he could say anything, the huge doors swung open again.

"Surprisingly swift for a council of that size," Spock commented quietly.

"Let's hope it's good news," Kirk replied, and led the way back in.

Varen and Letra were both scowling, so Kirk smiled. Beside him, Jolan made a very small moan, and Kirk glanced at him in concern. Something was very, very wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he instantly began searching the room.

The Keeper rose to his feet, and beamed at Kirk. "The majority of the Council of the Court of Law has agreed to accept your offer, Federation Captain."

Instantly, two guards spun away from their respective councilmen on opposite sides of the Court and descended on the trio at the center. Spock swung around to deal with the closest guard even as he heard Jolan draw his sword. The attacker fell to a nerve pinch, and Spock snatched the weapon from his hand before the body hit the floor. He whirled around in time to glimpse Jolan standing, apparently paralyzed, his weapon held up but doing nothing. Kirk had moved into a crouch, with his arms half raised in a defensive stance.

The second soldier lunged at Kirk, ignoring Jolan, and Spock blocked the swinging blade with a loud clang of metal on metal. Kirk, unarmed, wisely got out of the way as the soldier turned on Spock. The sword was too large, too heavy, for him to wield properly, and he clasped the hilt with both hands. But Spock was stronger than he looked, and this was the enemy's undoing. The next blow missed completely as Spock twisted agilely, and a calculated thrust sent the guard's sword spinning away into the stunned crowd.

The guard stared at him with fear, and took a step back.

"Jolan!" Kirk gasped in shock, and Spock jerked around. Jolan was staring at his captain, eyes wide with terror, and the point of his sword trembled against Kirk's throat.

"Kill him!" the disarmed man shouted. "Kill him now, or – " he broke off with a strangled gasp as Spock seized his neck with far more strength than necessary, dropping him instantly.

"You don't want to do this, Jolan," Kirk said softly, with amazing calm. The blade dug into his skin as he spoke, producing a thin trickle of blood.

The stalemate lasted several long seconds, and then the sound of metal striking stone echoed through the chamber as Jolan fell to his knees beside his sword. Jolan bowed his head in defeat, making no move to stop Kirk as he stepped back. The Keeper stepped down from the dais, fury written in every line of his body. Jolan did not move, did not even seem aware of the Keeper as he lifted his sword above his head and brought it down in a swift arc with unerring accuracy.

The blow did not land.

The Keeper stared down in surprise at Kirk's hand, wrapped firmly around his wrist. It took every ounce of the human's strength to keep the Keeper's arm from completing its task, suspended in midair, but he refused to allow the strain to show. He glared up into the Keeper's shocked face with a fury to match. "You will not kill this man," he declared.

The Keeper's mouth twisted in anger, but he jerked his arm sideways and out of Kirk's grasp. "He has betrayed the Court," he said, his grip tightening on the hilt with a soft creak of leather. "He has even betrayed the cursed Shadowguard. He has no honor, and he deserves to die!"

Kirk looked at Jolan, still on the floor at his feet. His face was a picture of despair, completely accepting his fate as only a man of honor who believed himself a traitor would be.

"I demand that he be spared," Kirk said firmly, looking back up to meet the Keeper's eyes.

The Keeper glared at him. "He would be your responsibility," he snapped, and stabbed an angry finger at him. "Punishment for any treason he commits will be suffered upon _you_."

"Fine," Kirk growled.

The Keeper took several angry paces away, and stopped beside his Savant. The old man looked at him, and whatever communication was silently exchanged caused the Keeper to sheath his sword and turn back to Kirk. "I renounce the fealty of the traitor Jolan," he barked.

"As witnessed by the Savant of the Keeper of the Law, so shall it be recorded," the Savant said formally.

The Keeper glared at Kirk. "If the traitor gives you his worthless fealty, then so be it."

Silence descended, and Kirk knew that he was supposed to do something. He glanced at Spock, but his first officer only gave a tiny shake of his head. Kirk wasn't sure if it was because he didn't know what to the procedure was, or because he was disagreeing with Kirk's interfering in the natural course of this world's culture. Probably both. Kirk looked down at Jolan with every appearance of confidence. "You're going to have to tell me what to do," he whispered.

Jolan blinked, but made no response. Kirk suddenly knelt in front of him so that he had no choice but to see him. A shocked murmur of voices rippled through the crowd, but Kirk ignored it. "You are not going to take the easy way out of this, mister," he growled angrily, keeping his voice low. "Now, tell me what I'm supposed to do to make this legitimate."

Jolan stared at the floor. "You would accept the word of a traitor?"

"No," Kirk answered, and Jolan's shoulders slumped even more. "But I don't believe you're a traitor. I believe you have a damn good explanation, and I'm willing to hear it before I judge you."

Jolan looked down at the floor, blinking suspiciously moist eyes. "You must take my sword," he said, speaking quickly. "Kneeling to me as you are now is highly… inappropriate. Stand, hold my sword out, blade towards me, and ask if I give my fealty to you. After I stand, hand my sword to me, blade pointed down."

Kirk reached out then, still kneeling, and moved with a deliberate, self-assured calm as he grasped the abandoned sword by its hilt. It scraped along the floor as he stood and did as instructed. "Do you swear fealty to me?" he demanded.

Jolan lifted his chin, and without hesitation brushed the inside of his wrist over the blade with just enough force to draw blood. Kirk blinked in surprise but stifled the reaction firmly. "Mind and heart," Jolan said, and touched his wrist to his forehead and then his chest, leaving a dab of blood at each, before rising. Jolan accepted the sword when Kirk turned the bloodied weapon and held it out to him, returning it to its scabbard.

"As witnessed by the Savant of the Keeper of the Law," the Savant said into the stillness. "So shall it be recorded."

"The Council has other matters to discuss," the Keeper said tersely. "You are dismissed."

Kirk wasn't sure whether or not he'd just made an enemy out of the Keeper, but he knew in his gut that Jolan didn't deserve to die. He squared his shoulders, and marched out of the Court with his head held high. Spock leaned his stolen sword against the wall as they left, and the murmuring started even before the doors slammed closed. Kirk really had no idea what he was going to do, and his thoughts raced frantically as he led the way back to their rooms. Jolan walked in miserable silence, his head hanging in shame. Spock hadn't said anything, not yet, but Kirk was counting the seconds until his first officer asked what he intended to do with a man that had sworn allegiance to him and could not possibly be taken to the Enterprise.

"Captain—"

"I'll think of something."


	11. Chapter 11

"All right," Kirk said shortly the moment the door closed. "You'd better have one _hell_ of an explanation."

"She's already dead," Jolan said in a flat, numb voice. "As surely as if I'd killed her myself."

"What?" Kirk barked, and put his hands on his hips in frustration.

Jolan looked at him with desolate grief. "My daughter, Mira," he said, and choked on the name.

Kirk's anger drained away with understanding. "The Shadowguard used her as leverage."

Jolan shook his head. "No, it was Varen," he corrected, spitting out the name as though it were a curse. "I respected him, trusted him," Jolan said, his voice rising in anger at the betrayal.

Kirk shook his head. "But why not kill me – or try to – right when you got here? That's what the Shadowguard wants, right?"

Jolan frowned. "Varen isn't working for the Shadowguard," he denied. "They hate all outworlders, because of the Klingons, and will do anything to rid our world of anything alien," he explained quickly at Kirk's disbelieving expression. "Varen just wanted to prevent the trade agreement. So I guess you could say, in this one thing, Varen was working for the same goal as the Shadowguard. But he would have been content to let you live, so long as you were leaving. I was ordered to kill you only if the Council agreed. He had intended to blame your death on the Shadowguard. He believed what the Klingons said of your Federation, that you are weak and cowardly. That you would not exact revenge, but simply leave. I didn't know about the other two. He must have had backup. He doesn't take chances, the Captain of the Guard," Jolan finished bitterly.

"So you've said before," Kirk muttered.

"Varen somehow found out that Mira had given your scent to the Shadowguard, and—"

"What?" Kirk interrupted in surprise.

"She didn't want to," Jolan said quickly.

"The serving girl," Spock said quietly, and Kirk felt the blood drain from his face. He'd touched her sleeve. All three had clearly been terrified, and it must have been because they'd been threatened by someone working for the Shadowguard. It hadn't even occurred to him, and apparently not to Spock either until just now.

"He was trying to kill two birds with one stone by taking me out and pinning it on Trin," Kirk said suddenly, turning to Spock. "He must have taken the gloves himself, or ordered someone to."

"My Lord?" Jolan asked, confused.

Kirk started pacing. "He's trying to blame Trin for the attack, to discredit him when the council decides whether or not he can be allowed to join the Vanguard."

"The Council will vote in Trin's favor," Jolan said. "They almost have to. No one's going to believe Trin gave you away, not after he sounded the alarm. And as odd as it might sound to you, Peth has more rights, in a way, than Trin does. She must be allowed into the Vanguard, and she must be beholden to a rider to care for her, and no other man will claim her. I'm sure Varen will never give him any chance for glory," Jolan said, "but they will be cared for there."

"I have a feeling Varen won't allow it to get that far," Kirk said, stopping his pacing.

"Then Trin is in grave danger," Spock said. "If the council votes in his favor, as you say they will, then it is likely Varen has a contingency—"

"You must return to your ship, my Lord," Jolan suddenly interrupted.

Kirk sighed. "My ship isn't there," he confessed, and Jolan blinked in surprise. "And won't be for a day or so, at best."

"Then we are leaving," Jolan said, and suddenly pushed past Kirk.

"What?" Kirk asked for the hundredth time that day, and turned to watch Jolan jerk the bedroom door open.

"We're leaving, _now_," Jolan repeated, and yanked a pillow off the bed. He stripped the cloth case covering it, then returned to the main room and began shoving the clothes that were still piled on top of one of the chairs into it.

"Now wait a minute," Kirk objected as Jolan began emptying the trays of food into the converted bag. "We're not going anywhere."

Jolan dumped the fruit and nuts in the bowl into the bag, then as an afterthought tossed in the bowl as well. "Yes we are," he insisted, then suddenly stopped to stare intently at Kirk. "Varen _always_ has a contingency plan, and he wants you dead. Your life is my only purpose now, and I can't protect you here." He set the bag on the table, and went into the bathing room. "As soon as he gets the chance, Varen is going after both of you," his voice called, mingled with the sounds of wooden drawers being pulled open. "They'll have a hard time searching for us in the wistor," he added, "and might not even notice we're missing for a while, at least not until the council concludes."

Kirk opened his mouth to argue, but Spock picked up the jar of orange liquid and the white powder and added them to the bag. Kirk closed his mouth and glared at his first officer.

"His logic is flawless," Spock said, and Kirk knew he'd been outvoted.

Jolan emerged from the bathing room with a towel that he'd tied into a knot to turn it into a bundle, and shoved it into the sac. Then he twisted the end of the pillowcase closed and hefted it over his shoulder with one arm and drew his sword with the other. "Have you no weapon?" he asked Spock, looking him up and down.

Spock's phaser was secured to his belt and hidden by the loose shirt, but it was all but useless here. So he folded his hands behind his back and shook his head calmly.

"He doesn't need any," Kirk said, and Jolan nodded curtly.

"Let's go, then," he said, and gestured with the sword for someone to open the door. Spock obliged, and led the way down to the main entrance. Jolan brought up the rear, his eyes constantly tracking as if expecting someone to jump out at them at any moment. But they encountered no one at all.

The wind took Kirk's breath away when the door to the outside opened, and he hesitated. "We should warn Trin," he said loudly, almost having to shout.

Spock looked over his shoulder at him, and gave a small nod before stepping into the darkness. A keening wail could be heard carrying on the wind, and Kirk wondered what it was. His eyes began watering from the wind, and had no idea how Spock could see where they were going. But eventually, the bulky shape of the stable loomed up out of the gloom. The doors were shut, but were not locked when Spock attempted to open one side. The trio staggered into the welcome warmth of the stables, and Spock slammed the door closed. The vithran were all stamping their feet and snorting in fear, terrified of the storm, and Kirk dismissed the idea of trying to get a mount for at least Jolan.

Peth was standing in the middle of the stable, saddled, and Trin was staring at them in surprise with one hand on her neck and one foot in the stirrup, clearly about to mount. "My Lord?"

"Good, you already know. Let's go," Jolan barked.

"We could bring him with us," Kirk said, glancing at Spock for his opinion.

Trin shook his head before Spock could answer. "I don't know where you're going, but I'm going to the Keep. They have left that poor dragon staked out in that mess! Listen to her!"

"You can't be serious," Kirk said. "Varen is trying to frame you for that attack last night, and if that doesn't work he's probably going to kill you. He's after us, too."

"He wouldn't dare," Trin said, but his voice didn't sound as confident as his words.

Peth suddenly let out a derisive snort, and turned on her heal to head back towards the living portion of the stable.

Trin glanced after her, but didn't follow. "Where are you going, then?" he asked Kirk.

"The woods," Jolan said instantly. "I know my way around any forest – the wistor will give us enough of a head start that they'll never find us."

"I… Know of a place," Trin said hesitantly. "They didn't find it before, and I don't think they'll find it again."

Peth returned with a large leather satchel and dropped it at Trin's feet.

"Can we _go_, now?" Jolan snapped, cracking the door open to peer outside.

Trin glanced at him, eyes wide at the curt tone, and Kirk sighed. "Long story."

"Give me a minute," Trin said. "And give me that bag," he added, taking the pillowcase from Jolan.

Trin fetched several smaller travel bags hanging from pegs on the stable wall, and quickly began to repack their things. Within a few short minutes, he had Peth supplied. He snatched up a few personal belongings and some more supplies from what was on hand, and shoved them into the saddlebags as well. He pulled down the smallest of the riding gear he could find for Kirk and Spock, and they shrugged into the jackets while Jolan made anxious noises for them to hurry.

"All right," Trin huffed, slightly out of breath from rushing.

"This way," Trin shouted once they were back outside, and they had little choice but to follow him. Now that he thought about it, Kirk realized that he had no idea how they were going to get past the guards, but Trin apparently had a way. Trin chose not to ride, but walked alongside Peth. The diminutive dragon kept her head tucked close to her chest and her wings close to her flanks, but did not balk.

Trin led them to a small side entrance in the Court's stone wall. A very large man opened a door cut into the stone and looked out at them in surprise.

"What are you doing out in this storm?" he demanded.

"The Shadowguard dragon," Trin shouted back. "Listen to her! I'm going to try to calm her." Trin patted the bulging pack on the back of the saddle. "The meat's drugged, but I'm sure I can get her to eat it."

The sentry nodded sympathetically. "And them?" he asked, gesturing at the others.

Trin glanced at them, at a loss, but Kirk answered. "My guard here has a way with dragons," he said, pointing at Spock. "And since people keep trying to kill us, I'm not allowing either of them away from me."

"I heard about that, at the Keep," the guard said, and looked uncomfortable. "You know I shouldn't let anyone out of here, Trin," he said unhappily.

"Drint, just listen to her!" Trin pleaded, and as if in agreement the wailing of the dragon grew louder as the wind picked up in a sudden gust that nearly knocked them off their feet.

The guard heaved a sigh and muttered something under his breath that the wind whisked away, but he went back into the little room. A moment later the sound of gears grinding could just be heard over the wind, and the gate started to lift.

"Thank you, Drint," Trin called, but the heavyset man had already closed the door.

The gate lowered in place behind them as they got their bearings in the street. "This way," Jolan said, and set off at a hurried pace.

"How are we going to get past the guard at the main gate?" Kirk asked, trying not to show how out of breath he was already getting. He was exhausted, and was forced to admit that he was going to have a very hard time keeping up. But he was determined, and pushed the thought aside.

"I have no idea," Jolan said calmly.

"Oh," Kirk said, and exchanged a look with Spock.

Their rout took them closer to the Keep, and the closer they got the clearer the cries of the dragon could be heard over the storm.

"I can't do it," Trin said suddenly, and stopped in the middle of the deserted road. "I've got to do something about her."

"Fine," Jolan snapped. "We'll leave you."

"No, we're not," Kirk countermanded, and the authority in his voice was enough to make Jolan back down despite his newfound priority of getting Kirk out of the city alive. He looked back at Trin. "But Jolan's right, Trin. We don't have the time, and what can you do?"

"I didn't have room to bring the meat I was planning to feed her, but I can set her free."

"Are you insane?" Jolan demanded, and Kirk had to agree.

"We're already fugitives," Trin shot back angrily. "All I have to do is unstake her, and she'll take off for the wild. She's got to be more terrified of the Keep than the storm."

"You'd cost the Vanguard the dragon!" Jolan said.

"They don't deserve her!" Trin shouted in fury.

"I will assist him," Spock said suddenly. "We must hurry."

"Spock," Kirk said, but the determined expression on his first officer's face ended the argument. He ran both hands through his wind tossed hair and growled in frustration. "Make it fast."

Peth started to follow Trin, but the young rider shook his head. "No, it's best if you stay here, Peth," he said, and the dragon made a noise of disappointment. "They might check the bags."

Kirk, Jolan, and Peth headed off of the road and were instantly swallowed by the inky blackness of a narrow ally between buildings. Spock nodded to himself, satisfied that they could not be seen, and focused his attention on Trin.

"I heard about the Keep today," Trin said beside him. "Is it true you charmed the dragon?"

Spock hesitated, for the terminology was far from accurate. But time was short. "Yes."

"Good," Trin said. "Then I'm telling them that's why you're with me, instead of the drugged meat I was intending to bring her. They'll believe me. Once inside, it'll be too dark for them to see her escape, and we'll be back out before they can notice."

Spock immediately spotted several gaping flaws in that plan, but said nothing. Logic dictated that their odds of survival increased exponentially with the presence of Trin in their company, and Trin stood a much greater chance of avoiding capture with Spock's assistance. Aside from that, however, Spock had seen inside that dragon's mind. She had lived a life of misery thus far, and had been ill treated by the Shadowguard. Though the Vanguard would most likely not abuse her as much as her rider had, Spock had no doubt that she would not be any more content in their service.

There were no dragons on the ramparts, nor any guards. As at the Court, everyone had taken shelter indoors, but that did not mean the place was unguarded. A stout man greeted them at the gate, clearly unhappy about having to come out into the weather.

"What are you doing here, boy?" he barked.

"We've come to help the dragon," Trin said, and the guard's stern expression softened.

He looked over at Spock, then back to Trin. "We didn't want to leave her out there, you realize," he explained, as if embarrassed. "But she couldn't be kept in the stalls."

Trin nodded in understanding, and gestured at Spock. "He can calm her, though. She has to be upsetting all the other dragons with that crying."

The guard studied Spock with narrowed eyes. "Yes, I saw that earlier today. But be quick about it, and hurry back." And with that, he went back inside and raised the gate.

Trin cast Spock a quick look of victory, and led the way into the Vanguard Keep's courtyard. The dragon was where they had left her, keening loudly. She snarled at Trin, and the rider paused. She calmed instantly upon recognizing Spock, however, and stared up at him with wide eyes. Spock knelt beside her head to distract her as Trin began pulling the heavy metal stakes out of the ground. "You will be free," he said quietly, knowing that she probably could not understand even if she could hear him over the wind.

"I didn't know about the splint," Trin panted, coming to kneel next to Spock so he could speak without shouting. "But it's only a sprain, not a break. She should still be able to get over the wall."

Spock nodded, and rested a hand on the dragon's broad muzzle. "Go in peace from here, Jisson" he said to her, putting the sentiment into her mind as well, and then they both stood back.

The dragon blinked in confusion, and then seemed to realize that she was no longer bound. She climbed awkwardly to her feet, muscles stiff from confinement. The ropes slid off from her back and pooled on the ground all around her as she stretched out her wings. She gave a sudden yelp and tucked the injured wing back to her side.

"Go," Spock commanded. Her great head turned back around to stare at him for a moment, and then she fled for the outer wall of the Keep. She gave a few aborted jumps, until the wind caught just right to give her enough altitude to clear the stone wall. She disappeared over the edge and was gone. The Keep was on the outermost edge of the city, and so she had the freedom of the woods now.

"Come on," Trin said, and hurried back to the entrance.

"That's a relief, boy," the guard said happily as he let them out, and Trin gave him a wave as they slipped back into the street.

"I can't believe that worked," Trin muttered, and Spock did not think he'd been meant to hear it so he said nothing. Although he agreed.

The others were waiting where they had been left. "We succeeded," Spock informed his captain before he could ask.

"Good," Kirk said.

"I checked the gate while you two were making your mercy run," Jolan said. "It's Tilra."

Trin groaned, and Jolan gave an unhappy nod. "There's no way we'll get past that old man," jolan explained. "He is one of Varen's men, and keeps no secret about his dislike of Trin."

"Guess there's only one way out then," Trin said reluctantly. "Peth will have to fly us over."

Jolan eyed the tiny dragon shrewdly, who suddenly drew herself up and glared back at him as if insulted. Jolan blinked in surprise.

"I'm sure she'll do fine," Kirk said. "The wall isn't far, we need to hurry."

The wind was enough to make them look like drunkards as they walked, constantly threatening to bowl them over, but they were standing directly at the base of the towering stone wall ten minutes later.

"Trin first," Spock suggested, "As Peth is the most familiar with him."

Kirk nodded in agreement, and Trin climbed into the saddle. The wind slammed her into the wall the instant she spread her wings. She let out a loud grunt, and tucked her wings in again while Trin muttered encouragement. It wasn't a matter of the weight – it was the wind. Jisson had been much larger, and much heavier. Peth was like a small kite in a thunderstorm. It took nearly half an hour, and the pair fell back to the ground several times before the dragon worked out a sort of hopping motion that looked almost like she was walking up the wall while the wind pushed at her.

It was a very odd sight, but in the end it worked. They disappeared over the side, and Peth reappeared at the top a few minutes later without her rider. She landed heavily beside the waiting group.

"Impressive," Jolan said, and Peth's jaws gaped wide at the praise.

"You next, Captain," Spock said firmly.

Kirk glanced between his two 'guards' and new that arguing would only waste valuable time. Peth knelt, and Kirk used the stirrup and her knee to climb up into the saddle. It was a jolting ride, and Kirk found himself clinging for dear life to the dragon's neck, but eventually they landed on the other side. Trin helped him down, and Peth instantly sprang back at the wall. Jolan was next a few minutes later, but Peth was clearly growing tired and it took her longer to get back over for her last trip to collect Spock. Several long minutes passed before the two of them crested the top of the wall again.

"Spock!" Kirk shouted in horror when the wind caught Peth wrong and flung them both off.

Peth swung her wings out in an instinctive motion to catch their fall, but it was the wrong thing to do. The wind wrenched her wings upward, and she bellowed in pain as they plummeted. She snapped them out a moment later, however, and it was just in time to cut some of their speed. They hit the ground together, and Peth plowed face first into the dirt.

"Peth!" Trin yelled, and he and Kirk both ran over.

Spock had been thrown clear, and was picking himself up gingerly. Kirk grabbed his arm, and looked him over quickly. "I am uninjured," Spock reassured his captain.

"That was too close," Kirk said, and released his hold. "That looked…" he swallowed, and did not finish the sentence.

"Are you hurt, Peth?" Trin said from nearby, and both officers crossed over to where she was now standing on wobbly legs. Peth shook her head, and Trin gave her a tight hug. She crooned at him, arching her neck to nuzzle his hair with her nose.

"I could almost swear she was talking back to him," Jolan muttered.

Now wasn't the time, Kirk decided. But it was inevitable that Peth's secret would soon be revealed. For now, they were over the wall, and out of the city. The vegetation here was thick with prickly weeds, and they tramped through it until the ground leveled out and became grass. Trin called a halt, and they waited while he rummaged in the saddlebags until he came up with four miniature glowballs. He handed one to each of them, and they proceeded into the forest.

The glowball didn't really help much, but at least Kirk could see were he was putting his feet, and that was better than nothing. "How far is this place you're taking us?" he asked Trin, who had taken the lead. Jolan had fallen back to bring up the rear again, his sword out and at the ready.

Trin looked over his shoulder. He rattled off a measurement for which the universal translator apparently could find no equivalent. "About an hour's walk on a good day," he said at Kirk's confused expression.

Kirk nodded grimly. This was not a good day.

The forest was nearly pitch black, and leaves, twigs, and small branches were constantly being hurtled at them. The wind would alternately shove at them from behind, or try to push them away. Within the hour, Kirk felt his legs turning to lead. He focused on where he was putting his feet, and concentrated on not tripping. But he inevitably stumbled, and Spock caught his arm. Kirk let him support a good amount of his weight rather than embarrass himself even more by falling over. Kirk willed his legs to move, but the mutinous bastards refused.

Spock leaned in close to talk into his ear without shouting. "Tara left you some medication. It is not yet the time she recommended, but I think perhaps now would be good."

"Yeah," Kirk agreed.

"Peth," Spock called, and the dragon stopped to look over her shoulder.

Jolan caught up by the time she and Trin had backtracked to them. "The illness has grown worse?" the guard asked.

Kirk sighed, and nodded reluctantly as Spock asked Trin where he had stowed away the jar. The rider found the right compartment, and handed it over. They had no cups, so Kirk just took a few swigs from it until Spock said it was approximately the same amount Tara had given him originally.

Kirk made a face at the incredibly sour taste, and shuddered as the concoction worked its way down his throat. "I think that's worse than anything Bones could ever dream of."

"That is unlikely," Spock disagreed, and Kirk gave a short bark of laughter.

Spock's head suddenly jerked around, and Kirk paused in the act of handing the jar back to Trin to follow his intent gaze into the forest behind them. "We are being followed, Captain."

Jolan held up a hand, telling the others to wait, and slipped into the shadows. A few minutes later, a distinctly dragonish bark sounded, and a loud crash of snapping branches reached them over the wind.

"Oh no, it couldn't be," Trin said.

Within seconds, Jolan reappeared with a scowl. He glared at Trin. "Well, I told you it was a bad idea, you remember that," he growled and pointed into the woods. "There's a very large, very tattooed dragon stumbling her way loudly through the forest. And she's headed right towards us. It's like she's a _Tracker_ or something." Derisive sarcasm dripped from every word.

"How was I supposed to know she'd follow us?" Trin demanded in self defense.

"Enough," Kirk ordered, and Jolan snapped his mouth closed. "How does this tracking work? Is she still after me?"

"No," Spock said with certainty. "I removed that information."

"Okay," Kirk said. "Then we might as well wait for her, since she seems determined." He sighed. "At least if she's with us, we know she can't be used to find us later."

It didn't take long. Within a few minutes, the sounds of something large lumbering through the forest reached them and the dragon stumbled into the puddle of light created by the four globes. She quickly spotted her quarry, and the Vulcan blinked in surprise when she butted him playfully with her nose with a happy rumble.

"Well, Spock," Kirk said, and made no effort to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Looks like you've made a friend."


	12. Chapter 12

"Come on," Trin said, and turned to lead the way again.

"She can't come with us," Jolan objected. "She's leaving a trail wide enough for a blind man to follow!"

Kirk glanced the way the dragon had come, and knew Jolan had a point. Broken branches and trampled shrubbery was just visible at the edge of their little circle of light, and Kirk knew it would be the same all the way back through the forest.

"It won't matter, where we're going," Trin said. "Once we get there, they'll never find us."

"How can—"

"She's coming, Jolan," Kirk said, and ended the debate. "I don't think we could stop her, anyway." He looked up at the dragon, who had crouched down low against the wind. The beast was obviously still terrified, and Kirk thought it was a mark of either her desperation or her courage that she had braved the storm to find them. Probably some mixture of both.

"Do you always make is so difficult for your guards to keep you alive?" Jolan asked unhappily.

"Yes," Spock answered immediately, and Kirk shot him an annoyed glance.

Before he could come up with anything to say, though, Peth sidled up to him and pressed her flank to his side.

"Peth's right," Trin said. "You should ride, my Lord. I mean no offense, but with Jisson leaving a trail we need to get there as soon as possible."

It stung his pride, but Kirk knew they were right. He felt a little better now, after the medicine and the brief rest, but he knew he was only going to slow them down. He reluctantly climbed into the saddle when Peth knelt. He was having trouble concentrating, and focused instead on staying upright. Trin had taken the lead, with his dragon and her passenger at his heals. Spock walked along beside Peth, with Jisson tagging along behind him like a giant puppy, and Jolan brought up the rear of the strange procession of fugitives.

It had taken them over three hours to travel less than two kilometers, when Trin paused to look around. "We're close," he said. "There are several entrances, so—" He broke off as Jisson suddenly lifted her head high, turning back they way they'd come. Her wide nostrils flared, and her lips peeled back in a snarl as she sniffed at the wind.

That was all the warning they were given.

At least a dozen men jumped out of the shadows, swords swinging and shouting battle cries. Jisson let out a mighty roar, wings spread to their full span, and several of their attackers paused. But none retreated, and within moments Jolan was swinging his sword with loud clashes of metal over the wind, and Jisson was fighting tooth and claw beside him.

"Get out of here!" Jolan shouted at Trin, and the stablehand looked torn with indecision. "Now!"

"No," Kirk ordered angrily, refusing to run from a fight. But Trin ignored him, and Kirk found himself shoved forward as the rider vaulted up into the saddle behind him and Peth bolted into the forest. Kirk looked over his shoulder as they fled, and saw that Spock had acquired a sword from somewhere and had joined Jolan. Jisson was surrounded, and the last thing Kirk saw was the huge dragon flinging a man to one side with a sweep of her wing and turning to snap at another. And then the darkness swallowed them from his sight.

It was a rough ride, and Trin wrapped his arms securely around Kirk's waist to keep them both from being flung from the saddle as the dragon ran full out. Several times, she only narrowly managed to dodge a tree that loomed out of the darkness, swerving sharply. Stars were encroaching at the edge of Kirk's vision, and he couldn't breathe for the pain in his chest.

"There!" Trin suddenly shouted.

Kirk had no idea how the dragon knew which way he meant, but she changed direction. A patch of darker darkness was ahead of them, and Kirk realized it was a huge, cave-like entrance. The wind cut off the moment the stone walls surrounded them, making Peth's hoarse breathing very loud as she stumbled to a halt. Her flanks were heaving, and Trin quickly slid to the ground before helping Kirk do the same.

"We have to go back," Kirk demanded, trying not to wheeze.

"I'm not happy about it, either!" Trin shouted back at him, abandoning rank in the face of his anger. "I'm no coward, but I'm not a soldier and you're not in any condition to fight. We'd only be in their way."

Kirk's mouth snapped closed at the harsh, if accurate, assessment. He looked out into the storm at the thick, black cloudy air swirling past the entrance. Spock was still out there, and Kirk's belly knotted in worry. He tried to determine how many attackers there had been, and realized it really hadn't been _that_ many. Jolan was an experienced warrior, and Jisson was a trained combat dragon. And Spock wasn't exactly made of spun glass.

"They'll be okay," Kirk said, and he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more: himself, or Trin and Peth.

"Jisson will be able to find us," Trin added uncertainly.

Kirk tried to look around at the cave. It was difficult to think that it was only late afternoon, early evening, for the darkness outside resembled night. "Where are we?" he asked.

Trin fumbled around until he dug out another small glowball from the saddlebag, and Kirk realized they must have both dropped theirs. Once illuminated, however, Kirk could see that they were not in a cave. The walls were too smooth, and looked like concrete rather than rock.

"This is part of the underground city… from before the Burning," Trin answered, holding the light up to show more of the place. The tunnel walls were stained with moisture and covered in mossy green and brown patches as far into the distance as the light allowed them to see. "The guards keep sealing off the entrances whenever they find one, but fugitives and criminals are always digging them open again. The place isn't a secret, but it's surrounded in myth and superstition. No one comes here unless they have to." Trin looked at him. "It's a maze in here, and once we get far enough inside no guard will risk following us. And even if they do, we can avoid them. I know these tunnels."

"All right," Kirk said, having little choice but to trust Trin not to get them hopelessly lost. "We'll wait here for the others."

Trin offered no complaint, and leaned against the wall with a sigh. He slid down it until he was sitting on the floor, and Peth tucked her legs up under herself and did the same beside him. Kirk cast another worried glance into the forest, and then sat on the opposite side of the tunnel so that they could both keep watch for their defenders. Kirk waved at him to stow the light, and Trin hid it within his jacket. They sat in the darkness for what Kirk estimated was close to an hour. He was just on the verge of deciding to go look for them, when a shadow blocked what little daylight was filtering into their shelter.

Kirk tensed, but relaxed a moment later at the sound of Jisson sniffing cautiously at the air.

"Captain?"

"Spock," Kirk said, and leaned his head back against the wall in a sudden rush of relief.

The light reappeared from Trin's jacket pocket, and both rider and dragon were getting to their feet. Kirk tried to do the same, and found that his muscles had gone stiff while he wasn't moving. A hand appeared in front of him, and Kirk looked up to see Spock offering assistance. The arm it was attached to had been cut and the sleeve was stained green, but it didn't look too bad. Spock's other hand still held a sword, its blade gleaming wetly.

Kirk looked up at Spock's face, but his expression was a grim, blank mask. He grasped Spock's hand and allowed the Vulcan to haul him to his feet, biting back a gasp of pain as his aching ribs objected.

"Some of them got away," Jolan said, and Kirk looked over to see the man squeeze past the dragon that was blocking most of the entrance. He was limping, and completely covered in blood spatters, but was grinning. "The cowards, they turned and ran!" He thumped Jisson soundly on the side as he passed her, and the dragon blinked down at him. "A fine warrior, this one! And him!" Jolan added, pointing at Spock as he came up to them. "I can see now why a man of your rank walks around with only one guard!"

Spock dropped the sword on the ground near the wall and it was only years of association with the Vulcan that allowed Kirk to detect the tightly controlled distaste. While the fight – and subsequent victory – had obviously been invigorating for the soldier, Kirk knew that Spock regarded combat as a means of last resort. Still… Kirk could understand Jolan, and if nothing else he was pleased that some of the life had returned to the man. So he smiled at him, and gave him a congratulatory clap on the shoulder.

But then Jolan's face fell as he looked around. "Your safe place is the _catacombs_?" he accused, taking a step backwards.

"They won't be able to find us," Trin insisted.

"_We_ won't be able to find us!"

Kirk sighed. "We don't have any choice."

Jolan took another step back. "This place is full of ghosts and demons," he said quietly, looking around in fear.

"Then they're harmless ones," Trin countered. "They never bothered me or Peth when we were here. It's just superstition, spread by criminals who want to keep the guards away." That said, he turned and led the way into the tunnel, not seeming to care now if anyone followed.

Peth did, naturally, and Kirk glanced at Spock before they both did likewise. Jolan sighed, and made a gesture over his chest before limping after them. Jisson now brought up the rear, for her bulk barely fit within the tunnel. She had to crouch as she walked, her wings folded tightly along her spine. Spock had managed to locate two of the discarded glowballs, and handed one to Kirk. Within minutes, they had made several turns and Kirk tiredly gave up trying to keep track. The place was obviously very old, and in poor condition. Chunks of masonry had crumbled from the walls and ceiling, making the going more difficult. At least he wasn't forced to ride while the others walked. Without the wind constantly pushing at him, the task was much easier.

"A fascinating effect," Spock murmured beside him, and Kirk looked over. The air was much clearer here in the catacombs, and getting more so as they traveled deeper, but was still filled with the dense, smoke-like stuff. The Vulcan waved a hand through the black mist, and rubbed his fingertips together. Kirk felt a little smile tug at his mouth as Spock raised the tricorder and its familiar whir echoed from the stone walls. "There are no detectable particles," Spock added, and raised an eyebrow. "It is an energy field of some kind that seems to have a peculiar effect on photons." Spock gave a small sigh and shut off the tricorder. "Unfortunately, even shielded by these walls, the radiation is too strong at this point for my tricorder to adequately analyze it."

"There's a plus to this mess, Spock," Kirk said quietly, for his hearing alone, and Spock raised an eyebrow at him. Kirk gestured at Peth walking ahead of them, and then at Jisson. "We've got a little dragon, a big dragon, and a jar of mysterious powder, all in one place."

The other eyebrow joined the first, and Spock looked over his shoulder at Jisson. The dragon immediately perked up at the attention, and Jolan let out a loud curse as he was nearly trampled in her haste to scramble closer. Spock awkwardly patted her on the nose to calm her down, and she crooned happily as her thick tail struck alternate sides of the tunnel as it swayed back and forth. Kirk bit his lip and Spock gave him a stern look.

"I promise not to tell Bones," Kirk vowed, and it was all he could do not to burst out laughing.

"You're probably the first person to show her any kindness," Trin said, having stopped to watch.

Spock sighed, because he knew this was true. She was an affectionate creature by nature, and he could not fault her for this. Still, he wished she had fixated on someone else. Anyone else.

They continued on for some time, until the tunnel opened up into a large room. Here Trin brought the group to a halt and held up his glowball. The light was too weak to reach the edge of the chamber, but something glittered back at them and the sound of water could be heard. "This should do, for now," Trin said, pleased, and handed his glowball to Jolan so that he could undo the straps holding Peth's saddle in place. Jisson immediately headed for the water, walking right into it and began drinking with huge, greedy gulps. Trin frowned as he set Peth's saddle on the ground. "I brought a bottle of disinfectant, and I suppose we'll have to use the clothing as bandages," he said. He tossed a shirt to Jolan, who began tearing it into strips with his sword.

There were a variety of small cuts and bruises, but the worst in the group was the gash on Jolan's thigh. Trin fretted that it probably needed stitches, but the soldier waved him off and wrapped the leg with an assurance that it'd be fine. Spock's arm had already stopped bleeding, but Trin insisted that it be cleansed and bandaged, and Spock saw no point in arguing. To his credit, Trin only displayed a momentary surprise at the alien color of the blood. It was Jisson who had the most injuries, boasting many cuts. But they were shallow wounds, and there was only one that required bandaging. Trin dabbed a bit of the ointment on each one, to prevent the possibility of infection.

The splint had torn and hung uselessly, doing nothing but getting in her way. "She should be all right without it," Trin commented as he removed it. "Lord Tomlin tends to be overly cautious." He sighed. "I wish we had something to feed her, she's malnourished."

Jolan tilted his head at the dragon. "She doesn't look starved."

"She isn't _fat_," Trin said with exasperation and patted her belly. "She's egg-heavy." Jisson pushed at his chest with her nose, and Trin laughed as he scratched her eye ridges.

Kirk looked at Spock sharply, and knew they were thinking the same thing. If it was the powder that caused the retardation, then there was nothing genetically wrong with Jisson. There was no reason for her offspring to suffer the same tragedy. Spock gave him a tiny nod of agreement, and then knelt next to the saddle and began searching the compartments. He found the jar, and used a convenient chunk of concrete that had fallen loose from the wall as a seat to begin the analysis. It would take quite some time, with the tricorder hindered as it was, but there wasn't much for them to do now but wait out the storm.

Jolan went to where the tunnel joined the room, and took up guard duty there. Jisson tried to go up to Spock, but Kirk distracted her with a few friendly pats and led her away. Spock spared him a grateful glance, but said nothing. Kirk managed to convince her to lie down across the room, and then sat down next to her to keep her company and stop her from hindering Spock. She seemed mildly confused as he made himself comfortable against her neck, out of the way of her wings. Kirk wedged the glowball into a crack in the wall as she shifted her weight and rested her head on the ground with a huge sigh.

It was a simple chemical scan, yet it took many times longer than usual to complete. As Spock had thought, the powder was a refined, concentrated growth hormone. He rose to scan Peth, who opened a sleepy eye to stare up at him from where she was resting. He glanced at Trin, who was using her as a pillow in much the same way as his captain was, and he suspected that Trin knew exactly what he was doing. He could feel the rider's eyes on his back as he crossed the room to scan Jisson. The black dragon regarded him calmly, but did not move.

"Spock," Kirk said, and patted the ground. Spock obeyed, folding his long legs to sit cross-legged beside him. "What have you got?"

Spock frowned as he compared the readings. "The scans are less than ideal," he said quietly, not wishing for this conversation to be overheard. "But I am reasonably certain that Jisson and Peth are the same species. The chemical appears to stimulate growth in infant dragons, but hinders the physical development of the brain itself."

"Is the damage permanent?" Kirk asked.

Spock hesitated. "I cannot be certain without a full medical diagnosis, but… yes, I believe so."

Kirk looked over at Trin, and saw that the rider and Peth were both staring intently at them from across the room. Kirk had been hoping that there might be some way to cure them.

"Jisson carries nine perfectly healthy embryos," Spock said.

"I have a feeling," Kirk said with a little smile, "that they're going to grow up the same way Peth did."

"It is unlikely that revolution could be far behind," Spock concurred.

Kirk made a small noise of agreement, but let the discussion end there. "Get some rest, Spock," he ordered. "This might be our last chance to stop moving for a while. Let Jolan take the first watch and wake me when it's my turn."

Spock nodded quietly, and passed the word to the others. Although he did not sleep, Spock did slip into a light meditative spell for a couple hours that served almost as well. By the time his internal clock brought him back to full awareness, the smoke like mist in the caves had dissipated to almost nothing. He relieved Jolan, who gratefully bedded down and was asleep the instant his eyes closed, despite the fact that it as still early evening.

Trin had spent the time unpacking the saddlebags and taking stock of their inventory. "I'm going to check outside," the rider said shortly after Spock had situated himself at the entrance. He began gathering up his riding jacket and rousting Peth. "And if the skies are clear, we're going to scout around."

"I do not think that is wise," Spock said.

Trin glanced over at Jisson. "I need to hunt for her, or those eggs will be stillborn. If the skies are clear, Peth and I can dart down any one of the entrances to these tunnels if some one sees us. They already know we're here," he added. "Jisson's trail will lead them right to the entrance, and those guards who got away know that she's with us, not just wandering around wild."

Spock reluctantly nodded, and allowed him to pass. When the rider did not immediately return, Spock concluded that the storm must have passed. Less than an hour later, however, the sound of heavy footfalls echoed from the corridor and a bouncing light appeared from around the nearest intersection. Jolan jerked awake, rolling to his feet as he grabbed for his sword.

"My Lord! Captain!" Trin shouted from the saddle as Peth skidded to a halt, his entire face alight with excitement. "We found your shuttle!"


	13. Chapter 13

"Where?" Kirk asked, blinking away sleep.

"It's at the abandoned Klingon base, just lying out in the open," Trin answered, dropping to the ground.

"It's a trap," Jolan said promptly, and Trin's face fell. "Bait."

"Perhaps not," Spock said thoughtfully, crossing his arms. "We told Varen that our ship could locate the shuttle by scanning for the metal it is constructed of. If he has any connection with the Shadowguard – and I believe he does – then it is more than possible that they simply decided to relieve themselves of incriminating evidence."

"Still say it's a trap," Jolan said. "Even if that's true and they didn't want the shuttle any more, they'd be fools to not take advantage of the opportunity to use it."

"The wistor hasn't fully cleared," Trin said. "No other dragon would fly now, but Peth is no ordinary dragon," he said, and gave her a proud pat on the neck. "I didn't see anyone, and there aren't many places to take cover. The base has no roof. I don't see how they could have left any forces out there. Peth can carry you both. If you leave now, you can probably get there before they can reset the trap – if it is one."

"It's worth the risk," Kirk said decisively, attempting to get to his feet.

Spock quickly crossed the room to assist him. Jisson lifted her head and shifted as though preparing to rise, and Spock laid a hand on her muzzle. "You must stay here, Jisson," Spock said, and the dragon's wings drooped sorrowfully. "They will take care of you," he added, impressing that assurance upon her mentally as well.

Spock picked up the jar of medicine from where Trin had set it on a rock. He passed it to his captain and Kirk reluctantly took a few gulps, grimacing at the taste before screwing the lid on and handing it back to him. Spock stowed it in a pocket of his borrowed jacket as Trin gave Kirk one of the glowballs.

"What are you going to do from here on out?" Kirk asked the rider, very unhappy about just abandoning all of them.

Trin smiled. "Don't worry about us, my Lord," he said. "We only need to avoid the guards for a few days, and then Jisson will be well enough to fly. And then we can go anywhere."

Kirk looked over at the dragon, who was staring disconsolately at them from across the room. He knew she couldn't understand everything that was happening, but it was clear to her that her new friend was leaving. Kirk looked back at Jolan, who also looked somewhat lost now that his primary responsibility would soon be gone. "I think you will find a new purpose here, Jolan," Kirk told him. At the soldier's confused expression, Kirk gestured at the Shadowguard dragon.

Jolan blinked, and then Kirk's meaning sank in. "What? Me? A rider?"

Trin grinned suddenly. "Perfect! Why not?"

"Because," Jolan started, but then stopped as he realized there was no because. They were fugitives. Laws and customs hardly applied any more.

"You're good in the saddle, and riding a dragon isn't much different," Trin said. Peth snorted indignantly. "Well, it isn't."

"She needs you," Kirk said, and Jolan's expression softened as he looked over at her. "And," Kirk added with a growing smile, "I think Trin is about to stir up a whole lot of trouble." Trin had said nothing about any of it, but Kirk knew full well that the rider knew the cause of Jisson's condition – and of all those like her. Kirk knew that Trin would not be able to stand by and do nothing, but he was obviously reluctant to confide in anyone. "Trust him," Kirk told Trin with a nod to Jolan. Kirk knew that once the guard understood the cause, he'd be instrumental in its success. "You're going to need each other."

The two looked at each other warily, but Kirk was confident they'd work things out. He glanced at each in turn. A disgraced soldier, a stable hand, a half-sized dragon, and a mentally handicapped pregnant dragon. They certainly didn't look like revolutionaries. But Kirk knew that they had more friends than they realized, and they were on the side of what was _right_. That didn't guarantee success, but it would be a start. It would be enough to point Veyga in the right direction.

Peth crowded against Kirk and bent her knee, and the captain climbed up into the saddle. He looked down at Spock as Peth shifted slightly, and knew his first officer wasn't going to like this. Spock had already resigned himself to the situation, however, and accepted Trin's help up. He slid into place behind his captain without any expression and Trin quickly fastened a series of buckles across their legs.

Kirk gazed at Trin with sudden intensity that made the man's eyes widen. "Listen to me, Trin," he said. "There will always be those who fear the unknown, who fear change. There will always be people ready to destroy what they don't understand. I don't like it, but I understand it." Kirk leaned forward, projecting the sheer force of his conviction into every one of his words. "History is often made by the actions of a single individual, Trin. _Be_ that one man that brings change."

"I will," Trin breathed, staring at Kirk in awe.

"Good," Kirk said, straitening in the saddle. He hesitated for a moment, but then decided that the information would have to serve to counterbalance the Klingon's interference in this culture. "One more thing. The Shadowguard have a stronghold in the mountains. Jisson knows the way."

Jolan's eyes went wide, and he looked over at the dragon with surprise that quickly modulated into cunning speculation.

Peth lowered her head to blow a puff of breath across Trin's hair as he placed a hand on either side of the dragon's face. "I will be waiting," he said quietly, and then stepped back.

Kirk grabbed at the pommel of the saddle with one hand as Peth took off down the rock-strewn tunnel, and held up the glowball to light their way with the other. Spock had nothing to hold onto for balance except for his captain's waist. Kirk seemed to adjust to the swaying motion of the dragon as she built up to a run, but Spock found the experience to be extremely disconcerting. Spock had memorized the twists and turns that led to their hiding place, but it seemed that this place was familiar to Peth. She needed no direction, correctly taking each turn until they broke out into daylight.

The huge wings swung out, and Peth launched into the air with an impressive leap. The dragon strained mightily, and soon the ground dropped away to forested tree tops far below. The wind had let up and the skies had mostly cleared so that the sun could now be seen, low on the horizon, but it was clear that the storm had not fully passed. Peth had to struggle, for the wind would not maintain a steady direction.

Spock ducked his head against Kirk's back, trying to protect his sensitive ears from the deafening roar, while Kirk leaned over to look down past the dragon's side. This wasn't at all like flying a shuttlecraft - it was absolutely exhilarating! Happiness bubbled up and spilled over until it felt like he would burst. Kirk was a man that lived for the present, and though he resisted the urge to fling his arms out wide, he couldn't help but tip his head back and howl his joy to the heavens.

Kirk looked over his shoulder at Spock, grinning. The Vulcan was squinting against the rush of the wind, his dark hair plastered to his head, but there was a glint of indulgent amusement in his eyes and just the tiniest of smiles softening the severe lines of his mouth. Kirk's grin widened, suddenly filled with affection for his friend, and Spock's eyes slid closed with a look of catlike contentment.

Kirk turned back around, and leaned forward to give Peth a hearty thump between the shoulder blades. The dragon glanced back at them, jaws gaping wide in a dragonish grin of her own. Kirk looked back down as they flew onward, watching the terrain pass with deceptive slowness. Kirk tucked the now unneeded glowball into a pouch on the saddle, and settled in for the ride. The rush of adrenaline soon faded, and Kirk could feel the pull of unconsciousness tugging at him, like a heavy weight trying to drag him under water. The roar of the wind and the steady, rhythmic beat of the wings seemed to be very far away, lulling him to sleep.

Despite his best efforts, his chin started to droop.

He felt Spock move behind him, heard the low rumble of his voice in his ear, but his words were spirited away on the wind. Kirk's drowsy mind realized that he had started to slump forward only when he felt Spock's arms move to catch him. He tried to straighten up, but the effort seemed like too much. His eyes slid closed and he lost track of time, drifting in and out of awareness, until Peth caught a sudden updraft and jolted him awake. A stab of fear lanced through him - fear of falling to the ground far below, out of control.

His heart fluttered against his ribcage like a panicked, caged bird as he jerked his head up. The sudden motion was too much, for he was assaulted by a wave of dizziness and nausea. He felt something lock firmly across his chest with inhuman strength, and the protest of his ribs was lost in the knowledge that no force in the universe could pry him off the back of this dragon without Spock's express permission. It was a comforting notion, and it was his last coherent thought before the gaping chasm of blackness claimed him.

Spock struggled to control his breathing and heart rate. His reaction to Kirk's fever-induced terror had been instant and instinctive, and though it was a disgrace to his Vulcan heritage, Spock could not bring himself to regret it. Spock was the only thing holding the human upright, and so he settled his arms more comfortably across Kirk's torso to keep him from sagging forward. Peth craned a long neck over her shoulder to peer back at her passengers. The delicate nostrils flared, and she whipped her head forward with a distressed bugle. The powerful strokes of the wings quickened, increasing their pace.

Kirk did not regain awareness during the remainder of the journey, and the sun was setting by the time Spock was able to see the half-built outpost in the distance. They made a cautious circle of the area, but there was no sign of life below. The Klingons had cut down the forest in a wide radius, and Trin was right; there was nowhere for anyone to hide. The Copernicus lay in a crater of its own making, clearly having been dropped from a considerable height. Fortunately, it had landed more or less upright. He narrowed his eyes to visually look it over for damage as they began to descend with alarming speed.

The dragon's flanks were heaving by the time her claws touched the earth, and she dropped the last meter with a heavy jolt that knocked the breath out of Spock. Peth remained standing for a moment, her neck bent so that her nose was nearly brushing the ground in weariness. Spock could feel the muscles of the dragon under him quivering with exhaustion as Peth lowered herself into the dismount position.

Spock undid the restraints quickly, and then leaned over the side to get one arm under Kirk's leg. He managed to lift it up and over, turning them both so that they could step onto the dragon's waiting knee. Spock tightened his grip when Kirk suddenly began to struggle, and Peth raised a wing in an effort to help, but Kirk managed to wriggle free with a sudden jerk and fell. He cried out as he struck the ground, curling into himself with an agonized moan, and Spock slid gracelessly down the dragon's side after him.

Kirk was breathing in quick, short gasps as Spock knelt beside him. "Captain," he said, trying to roll him onto his back. His captain did not recognize him, and tried to fend him off with one arm, the other still clutched protectively around his chest. "Jim, it is Spock," he said in an effort to calm him. He got a sudden knee to the stomach for his trouble, and twisted to block a second blow with his hip.

His captain was in danger of injuring himself – possibly already had. Spock caught Kirk's swinging fist with one hand and leaned in to dig the fingers of the other into the exposed neck. "My apologies," he murmured as Kirk stiffened briefly with a gasp of shock before going limp. Spock gently lowered Kirk's arm the rest of the way to the ground before running the tricorder over him. But the machine was still not functioning properly, and Spock did not fully trust its information. He carefully felt along Kirk's side, and although the skin was far too warm against his searching fingers he found no evidence that the damaged ribs had broken.

The dragon arched her neck to peer down at them, shifting her weight from one foot to the other restlessly.

"Peth," Spock said, and she brought her head to eye level with him. "I thank you, for both of us," he said, and held up his hand in the Vulcan salute. "Live long, and prosper."

The dragon eyed his hand for a moment, and then held out one clawed wingtip without any hint of amusement. Spock took the offering solemnly, and gave it a firm shake in the human fashion.

Peth stepped back, whiffing anxiously as Spock lifted Kirk over his shoulder and stood. Spock had used as little force as possible to disable his captain, and Kirk was already beginning to stir. Spock tightened his grip as he walked, in case he renewed his fevered struggle, but he seemed content to mutter deliriously. Spock's mouth pressed into a grim line.

The shuttle had settled askew on the ground, but not so much so that it would require any special effort to enter. The door bore the marks of attempted forced entry, but there did not appear to be any permanent damage. He braced Kirk between himself and the shuttle so that he could free one hand long enough to enter the unlock sequence, then waited with more than a little impatience for the ramp to descend. Once inside, he laid his captain on the deck between the twin rows of seats before sealing the door and hurrying to the pilot's seat. He ran the shuttle through a self diagnosis and the report came back mostly green. Federation shuttles were sturdy craft, but the port nacelle had been physically damaged in the fall, rendering the shuttle incapable of warp.

The Copernicus was still space worthy, and Spock was beset with a sudden desire to be gone from Veyga before anything could prevent it.

He rushed the shuttle through its pre-flight checks, and dispensed with the warm up sequence altogether. Within minutes, the Copernicus was lifting unsteadily from the ground and heading for the relative safety of space. Spock chose the most direct trajectory, caring little about the flashy pyrotechnics that were no doubt heralding their departure to anyone who happened to be watching. Only after they had achieved orbit did Spock allow himself to relax.

The entire solar system was flooded with radiation from the star, and some part of Spock's mind could not help wondering if it was a cyclic occurrence or caused by something else. Whatever the cause, subspace communications would be almost impossible. Nevertheless, Spock recorded a distress signal and set it to loop repeatedly. It was unlikely that anyone was near enough to hear it, but Spock had redefined his perception of 'unlikely' over the years. Spock plotted a course out of the system and the Copernicus limped closer to the Enterprise on autopilot as he returned to his captain.

Shuttlecraft were not designed for long distances, nor were they designed for luxury. While the Copernicus boasted a tiny lavatory tucked into a corner of the aft compartment, it had nothing that would serve as a bed. It might be several days before they could rendezvous with the Enterprise, and Spock did not wish to leave his captain lying on the unyielding deck for that duration. He went to the storage compartment, and sorted through the reflective containers of varying sizes. He collected the emergency medical kit and a tightly rolled sleeping mat, making a mental note to commend Engineer Scott on keeping the shuttle's crash survival gear fully stocked.

Spock unrolled the mat, and ran the medical tricorder through a quick diagnosis as he waited for the foamy material to expand. The shuttle's shielding was enough to allow the machine to function almost at full capacity, and it was a relief to finally have the proper equipment at hand. The virus was attacking the protective membranes covering the brain and spinal cord, and the resulting inflammation of the tissue was putting considerable pressure on the surrounding nerves. It had spread to encompass the nerve bundles and membranes of the eyes, but to a much lesser extent.

The orange liquid contained a wide variety of vitamins and useful electrolytes, but its primary ingredient had a numbing effect on most nerves in the body as a whole that resulted in slowing the progress of the virus. Although the healer had suggested a six hour span, Kirk's metabolism was high enough that he could process the medicine much faster than that. Spock decided that smaller doses, much more frequently, would prove more effective.

Spock stared at the jar in his hand with dismay, calculating its volume. It would run out in less than a day.

Spock briefly considered returning to Veyga, but dismissed that option. The concoction only slowed the virus, it did not stop it. Spock suppressed the alarm that came with the next chain of cold, hard logic: his captain would be dead before the medicine ran out. Therefore, there was no logic in acquiring more of it. His captain needed a medical facility. They were on the Klingon-Federation border. The Enterprise was likely to be the only vessel anywhere near them. The Enterprise was possibly several days distant.

Not too long ago, Spock would have bowed to the inevitable outcome that logic predicted. But one James T. Kirk had proven to him that there was no such thing as the no-win scenario. Every problem had a solution; it was only a matter of finding the correct one in the time alloted. Spock could see no logical alternative to a most undesirable outcome, and his eyes settled on his captain. The answer, therefore, did not lie in logic. Once, such a concept had been alien to Spock. But he had come to accept that logic did not solve all things – especially when this particular human was involved.

Spock set the jar on the deck with a sigh; his only choice was to keep him alive as long as possible and wait. Hope, too, was something that Spock had grudgingly come to accept.

The foam mat would ease some of the strain on the muscles in Kirk's back, which had begun to knot from the pressure of the infected, swollen tissue. Kirk mumbled incoherently as Spock moved him, but did not try to fight. Tara's potion was not designed to be taken intravenously, and he did not have the equipment necessary to separate the bulk of the fluid from the actual medication. Spock poured a measure of the drink into a cup and sealed the jar, for he wanted to limit the amount that could be spilled by any sudden movements on his captain's part.

Spock propped Jim against his chest, and pressed the cup to his lips. He swallowed reflexively and then blindly turned away from the taste, but the dosage was a small one and it was sufficient. Spock set the empty cup aside and settled Jim back to the mat. He broke the seal on the medical kit's compress, shook it to disperse the chemicals within, then pressed it to his fevered forehead in an attempt to leech away some of the heat.

That was all that Spock could do, and he fought down a sense of futility as he listened to Jim's strained breathing.

Spock banished the emotion and returned to the helm to check the shuttle's progress. They were not getting very far at sublight speeds, but the odds of the Enterprise hearing his hail increased exponentially the farther away they got from the star. He did not rule out the possibility of a Klingon ship finding them first, but at this point he would accept even their assistance if they offered it. They would have reasons for keeping his captain alive, if they could.

Spock repeated the treatment every hour on the hour three times without incident. Jim grew violent on the fourth, however, and Spock was forced to incapacitate him again to knock him out of whatever fevered nightmare had gripped him. He was extremely reluctant to use any kind of sedative, and he was aware that repeated nerve pinches were dangerous. Most of what Jim said in his delirium was incomprehensible gibberish, but some of it Spock understood. Spock would have gladly fended off the demons by melding, but the seizures were caused by physical pressure against the brain and there was nothing Spock could do about it. In the end, Vulcan strength prevailed and Spock simply held him down when the seizures hit, for they did not last long before Jim would lapse into exhaustion. The amount of shielding that Spock needed to block out the mixture of terror and fury that lashed at him during those moments was taxing, but he had no desire for Jim to be stripped of any more privacy than he already had been.

Spock had slipped into a light meditative trance during a quiet spell when the communications console bleeped seven point four hours after they had left Veyga.

The signal was faint, and Spock's hands flew over the console as he tried to boost his transmission.

"I read you, Copernicus," Uhura's voice said, barely audible over the distortion. The small screen cleared gradually and the lieutenant looked at him anxiously through the bursts of static. "I have them," she called over her shoulder.

A moment later, Engineer Scott leaned down into the picture beside her, one hand braced on the console. "That whole system looks to be a right mess from here – we can barely read ye, Mister Spock."

"The star is experiencing a radiation storm of unknown cause," Spock explained. "What is your ETA?"

"We've made the delivery already, but they had the situation well in hand. We're on our way back," Scott said, and tapped at Uhura's console. "Sending ye the coordinates now. ETA… fifteen hours, sixteen minutes at standard cruise velocity."

Spock's eyes slid closed briefly as he struggled to control the sudden surge of relief at the engineer's reply. "All possible alacrity would be greatly appreciated," Spock said calmly.

He did not fool them. Uhura's eyes went round with concern, and Scott's expression turned grim. "Aye, I hear ye, Mister Spock. We'll step on it," he said, and Spock did not waste time trying to decipher the peculiar idiom. "Cap'n's got himself in a bind, hasn't he?"

"Affirmative," Spock said tersely. "Please transfer me to sickbay."

"Ach," Scott said with a dismayed cringe as Uhura complied.

There was a delay, presumably while McCoy was called away from something, for it was the doctor himself who answered. "This can't be good," he said, dropping into his desk chair.

"The captain has become ill," Spock said, ignoring the doctor's sarcasm as he hooked the tricorder up to the console. "I am sending a transmission of all relevant data."

"I knew it – I _knew_ something like this would happen," McCoy growled as he rooted through the stack of square datacards on his desk. "I swear, Spock, every time I let the two of you out my sight, one of you ends up maimed." He snatched up a bright yellow one and slammed it into the computer's reader. "When did he catch it?" he asked, then waved a hand. "Never mind. If there's a deadly microbe within a hundred mile radius, you can bet your pointy ears it'll zero in on Jim Kirk the second he sets foot on the planet."

Spock did not know precisely when his captain had contracted the illness, or from where, so he said nothing.

"Damned walking target, that's what he is," the doctor carried on as his console beeped. "He's lucky I do house calls!" McCoy fell silent as he began reading through the tricorder scans, and then began muttering obscenities and oaths under his breath, cursing all starship captains as he stabbed angrily at his computer.

Spock's hands, folded in his lap, tightened around each other. He knew, intellectually, that there was nothing he could have done to prevent this situation. Yet he still felt the weight of failure pressing down on him, for he had failed his primary duty.

"Okay, Spock," McCoy said, and the Vulcan dismissed such useless thoughts. "I'm sending you a list of medicines and timetables. Switch to the next one on the list when the medkit runs out. And keep up with that local stuff, too. It packs quite a punch."

Spock brushed his fingertips over a dial on the console, and nodded when the machine confirmed receiving the data.

"I don't think this bug'll be too hard to crack," McCoy said. "But I doubt the emergency kit will be able to produce the cure once I find it." The doctor's expression softened. "Hang in there, Spock. Scotty'll get us there as fast as possible."

Spock nodded solemnly. "Copernicus out," he said quietly and terminated the connection.

Spock did as McCoy instructed, exhausting the medkit's limited supply of applicable drugs one at a time over the course of the next six hours, and still Jim grew weaker. There were no more violent fits, but this was because he simply did not have the energy. Instead, he muttered incoherent nonsense at random intervals.

Spock had just emptied the last of the medicine on McCoy's list when the Enterprise hailed him again.

It was illogical for him to expect all the senior staff to remain on duty, and yet Spock was surprised when it was Sulu's face and not Scott's that appeared on the screen, seated at the helm. The picture was vibrating slightly as if the ship was experiencing some kind of structural stress.

"Where is Mister Scott?" Spock asked, and was displeased by the tired rasp in his own voice. He realized he was slumping in his seat and straightened abruptly.

Sulu pretended not to notice. "He's down in engineering, sir," he answered. "We're at warp eight point three." The helmsman's eyes darted to the side as Chekov's hand appeared just within range of the viewer, holding up four fingers. "Eight point four," Sulu amended. "He says he can get us to point six, and I'll transmit a new ETA then." That explained the strain, and Spock did not question the engineer's ability to sustain that dangerous speed if he claimed that he could. "We just wanted to let you know Doc's got the cure," Sulu said.

Spock graced him with a nod of gratitude, and Sulu flashed him a quick grin before signing off.

Two grueling hours later found the Copernicus stationary in space and Spock at the helm, staring at the shuttle's sensors readings. Scott had truly pushed the engines and Sulu's revised ETA put the Enterprise's arrival at any moment. They were still well within the solar system, and transporters were not an option. They had already planned the rendezvous with pinpoint precision. And so Spock stared at the sensor readings, telling himself that he was not being anxious.

"Spock?"

The single word was barely more than a hoarse croak, but Spock moved so quickly that he nearly tripped as he knelt on the deck beside his captain. The moment of lucidity that had prompted the summons seemed to have passed, however, for Jim simply stared up at him with a confused frown. There was something deeply unsettling about this bright, vibrant mind being so clouded. Spock swallowed and moved to change the compress, but found his wrist caught in a weak grasp. Jim tugged on his arm and Spock allowed it to be pulled down until it rested against Kirk's chest, no longer blocking his captain's line of sight.

"C'mere," he whispered, and it was clear that the simple act of speaking was an effort.

Spock leaned down closer, for whatever delusion currently running its course was at least a benign one. Spock was more than willing to obey if it would spare his captain the unnecessary exertion of believing he needed to speak louder to be heard. He blinked in confusion as Jim reached towards his face, but he made no move to deny him any liberty. Spock remained absolutely still as his captain brushed at his bangs, combing the dark strands into place with his fingers before letting his arm fall with an exhausted sigh.

"Universe isn't right… if your hair's… messed up," he said, satisfied at having righted this apparent wrong.

It was, perhaps, the most illogical thing he had ever heard his captain utter. "Yes, sir," Spock said very softly.

Jim breathed out a short sigh that might have been a laugh, and gave him a weak smile as his fingers moved against Spock's wrist in a little pat. A nova of emotion blossomed into Spock through the contact; amusement, affection, reassurance. Then his captain's eyes closed and it was as if the light and warmth of a star had just been extinguished, leaving behind an aching, cold emptiness.

Spock forced down a nearly overwhelming surge of alarm as he pulled free of the slack grip and wrapped his hand around Jim's wrist. The pulse of life thrummed against his fingers, faint but _there_, and Spock would never admit aloud how much he needed to feel it right at that moment as he struggled to manage the wash of relief. It was a few moments before the sound of the proximity alarm registered upon his awareness.

The Enterprise.

Spock's hand tightened briefly before he controlled the impulse, then he quickly moved to the helm to take over the autopilot.

The starship dropped out of warp so close to the Copernicus that the tiny craft rocked gently from the backwash of the collapsing warp bubble. In a further display of excellent piloting, the Enterprise spun on her axis and whipped around so that the bay doors, already beginning to open, faced the waiting shuttle. The stubby nacelles barely cleared the expanding walls of duranium as Spock brought the shuttle home, a tiny part of his mind noting and feebly protesting each regulation as it was blatantly broken. The doors began to contract before they had even finished opening, and atmosphere was being pumped into the chamber before the Copernicus touched down.

Spock left the helm the instant the shuttle had settled firmly to the deck and carefully gathered Jim into his arms. He waited with growing impatience for the red light to change to green, keenly aware of the whisper of Jim's breath on his neck. He would know instantly should it cease. He pressed the control with his shoulder when the light finally switched over and dropped to the deck, bypassing the ramp that was descending with agonizing slowness. Spock was halfway across the bay by the time the med team got the gurney past the doors.

"We have to get him to sickbay for the treatment," McCoy said quickly.

Spock gave a curt nod, and sidestepped the medteam, deciding the time needed to transfer his burden was unacceptable. He ignored their confused babble as he strode quickly past, leaving McCoy to deal with them. The doctor gave them a frantic wave and a hasty shout to take the next lift as he chased after Spock. Spock barked the command for the turbolift while McCoy passed a tricorder over the captain's limp form.

"Damn," he muttered and pressed a hypo to his neck. Kirk did not even stir as the cocktail of drugs was pumped into his system. McCoy glanced up at Spock, and saw the Vulcan's hands tighten possessively when he noted the doctor's grim expression. Senseless platitudes were generally wasted on Spock, and so McCoy silently looked back down at the tricorder. He watched the tiny screen alter, and shook the machine with frustration when it didn't show him what he wanted to see.

McCoy burst out of the turbolift the moment the doors opened. Abandoning any sense of dignity, he sprinted down the corridor and very nearly dislocated his shoulder when he clipped the too-slow doors of sickbay in his haste. Spock was right on his heels, and McCoy was calling out orders even as Spock laid Jim out on the nearest biobed.

Spock stared down at his captain and McCoy took a split instant of precious time to gently nudge the Vulcan out of the way so that he had room to get to his patient's side. "I'll do my best," he assured him quietly, even though he knew Spock was already aware of this, and then gave him another little push. Sometimes even Vulcans needed senseless platitudes.

Spock gave a brief nod and found himself relegated to a corner of sickbay while half the medical staff of the Enterprise swarmed over the captain. There was no way he could assist them. It was not logical for him to remain. Duty dictated that he report to the bridge, where Sulu was no doubt waiting to be relieved, and where the crew were awaiting news of their captain. He had nothing to tell them. He watched the medical staff work for a moment longer before he realized that emotion was threatening his duty as second officer. He slammed all the barriers in place, locking everything down and away. Their mission to Veyga was in serious danger of failure.

He walked out of sickbay with determination in every stride.


	14. Chapter 14

Uhura was the first to notice when the turbolift doors hissed open. Spock strode past her, choosing to ignore the silent question on her face. Sulu had not resumed a seat in the command chair, and it sat vacant as Spock crossed the bridge.

Sulu glanced down at his console as a brief message flashed up at him, sent from the communication's terminal. He whipped his head around to give Spock a grin. "Welcome aboard, sir!"

Spock did not reply as he settled himself into the captain's chair, and the pleased smile slid from the helmsman's face. His eyes flicked to Uhura, at the back of the bridge, and she gave a tiny shake of her head. You could always tell the captain was in real trouble when Spock got like that. Sulu straightened his shoulders and turned back to his station, silently awaiting orders. He glanced discreetly at Chekov out of the corner of his eye and noted the ensign was also sitting up ramrod straight in his seat.

Spock could see a ripple of tense alertness spread out around the bridge, as if his presence was a rock tossed into what had been a calm pool. He did a quick check to make certain that no emotion was showing, but there was none to show for he had it all locked and tied securely with tight ropes of logic. He did not understand their sudden tension. He did not think he would ever understand humans. He dismissed the illogical thought, for it did not matter. "Mister Sulu," he said calmly. "Please take us to Veyga, warp factor six."

Sulu bit his bottom lip. "Sir, Mister Scott has informed the bridge that the engines have sustained some damage. We can only obtain warp four at this time."

"Warp four, Mister Sulu."

"Aye, sir," Sulu acknowledged, sliding his hands over his console. The starship banked inwards towards the star, slowly laboring to increase speed one warp factor at a time.

Spock pressed the button on the arm of the command chair for engineering. "Mister Scott."

A moment passed. "Aye, Sir."

"How long until the Copernicus can be repaired for service?" Spock asked.

"The Copernicus?" Scott repeated in surprise. "Why, I haven't had a chance to look at it personally, but one o' me lads said the pylon took a pretty hefty hit. That kind of structural damage would take at least a day to repair, sir."

"Very well," Spock replied. He knew there was not enough time to adapt a second shuttle, so it would have to do. "Prepare the Copernicus for launch in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes?" Scott asked, his voice rising in dismay. "Sir, I dinna recommend taking the shuttle back out with that big a dent in her. There's a real risk of micro-fractures in the hull that—"

"As we do not currently have any other shuttle that will operate under these solar conditions, it is the only option," Spock interrupted.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Spock could detect the engineer's resigned displeasure when he finally replied. "Fifteen minutes. Aye, sir."

The Vulcan pressed another switch on the control panel. "Spock to security."

"Giotto here," came the instant reply.

"Please prepare a team of four security officers and have them meet me in the shuttle bay in ten minutes," Spock ordered.

"Aye, sir."

Spock rested his elbows on the arms of the command chair and laced his fingers together, absently making a pyramid of his index fingers and pressing them to his chin in thought. The stars on the veiwscreen streaked past as they rushed towards Veyga. It was highly likely that their sudden departure would indicate a fearful response to that last attack in the council room. If Starfleet wished to retain a trade agreement with Veyga, the situation could not be left this way. The social structure of the Veygans dictated that Spock return with a show of strength, and quickly. A full away team of six should be sufficient to restore their respect, without inducing a sense of threat.

"Mister Sulu," Spock said, rising to his feet. "Inform me when we have established orbit. You have the bridge." He walked towards the turbolift as the helmsman uttered an affirmative. "Mister Chekov, with me." The ensign must have moved with great alacrity indeed, for he arrived at the turbolift at the same time Spock did. If the navigator had any questions, he kept them to himself and the lift descended in silence.

The Shuttle bay was bustling with activity as several technicians clambered on and around the Copernicus. The entrance to the shuttle was still open, the ramp resting against the deck. Scott was kneeling beside the shuttle, anxiously passing a machine over a section of the damaged nacelle. A white splash of what looked like paint glistened on the metal. He glanced up long enough to see Spock and Chekov walking towards him, then returned to his work while pointing a finger in the general direction from which they were coming. "Benson!" he called.

A technician ran up and held out the Vulcan's tricorder. Spock took it from him with a brief nod, and then passed the machine to Chekov. The navigator blinked in mild surprise, but looped the strap over his shoulder without comment. Scott shook his head as he got to his feet. "We found two micro-fractures spreading from the damaged area, and it won't be long before they begin to compromise the integrity of the hull." He waved a hand over the discolored portion, as if hurrying it to dry. "The bonding agent will buy you some time. She should get ye to the surface and back again, but I recommend ye do it vera carefully."

"Acknowledged, Mister Scott," Spock said.

Scott opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it again when he caught sight of Chekov's rigid stance. There was just no point in arguing with the Vulcan when he got set on something, although that knowledge didn't always stop the engineer from trying. Instead, he gave Spock a hopeful smile. "I dinna suppose you're goin' back down there to give them a few good knocks for the cap'n, eh?"

Spock stared stonily at him, and Scott cleared his throat. "Ah, no, I suppose not." He was saved from being logically castrated by the entrance of the security team.

"This is a primitive culture," Spock began the moment they were standing before him. "On this assignment, you are to remain on guard around myself and Ensign Chekov. You are to remain silent unless necessary. Mister Chekov, you are to maintain a constant tricorder scan of the proceedings. Understood?"

A chorus of affirmatives rang out across the shuttle bay.

Scott looked up at him as he passed, looking greatly put upon as he fanned the scanner over the drying patch of hull. "Ah, give me just a couple minutes, Mister Spock," he said.

Spock nodded curtly as he walked up the short ramp and into the Copernicus. He was not certain, but he believed he heard what sounded like Scott blowing on the metal as he headed for the pilot's seat. He noted absently that the interior had already been cleaned up.

"Someone get me a bloody fan!"

Chekov took the seat beside him without being instructed to, and Spock spared him a quick nod. The last security guard closed the hatch behind himself, and within one minute everyone was seated. Spock was about half way through the shuttle's pre-flight checklist when the com came to life.

"Entering orbit, now, sir," Sulu said from the tiny speaker on the console.

"Acknowledged, Mister Sulu," Spock replied, continuing with the warm up. "Please open the bay doors when you are able."

"Aye, sir."

The away team waited in silence as the shuttle bay was cleared of technicians and depressurized, and then they were dropping towards the planet.

The people of Veyga were clearly aware of the nature of shuttle craft, and of tricorders. Exposure to them at this point did not constitute a breach of the Prime Directive, so Spock chose to set the Copernicus down right in the courtyard of the Court of Law. There were no longer any dragons or soldiers manning the walls, but he was quite certain their arrival had been noted. Less than thirty seconds later, the Keeper himself, his Savant, Varen and their guards came pouring out of the huge double doors. Spock rose to open the hatch and gestured for the security team to precede him. They filed out wordlessly, alertly checking their surroundings as they formed a defensive half-circle around the shuttle's entrance.

Spock walked down the ramp, Chekov close behind. The ensign instantly began scanning, frowning at the readings until he figured out Spock's adaptations to the machine. He stopped beside Spock as the Vulcan waited for the Veygans.

"Mister Spock," the Keeper said when he and his entourage drew close enough. There was a decided edge to his tone and his unhappy frown deepened as he looked over the assembled Starfleet officers. "Where is Captain Kirk?"

The Savant pushed slightly past the Keeper, resting a gnarled hand on the man's thick shoulder. "We feared you'd come to harm when you left so suddenly," he said much more diplomatically.

Spock's eyes drifted past them both to lock onto Varen. "We left to retrieve our shuttle craft," he answered, "and did not wish to disturb the council meeting." It was neither truth nor lie, but Spock was beginning to understand that his father's chosen vocation required such half-truths. Varen's expression of polite interest froze into a blank mask, no doubt wondering if they had located it before or after it was moved. Spock allowed him to mull that over as he watched several more men and their guards exit the Court and head towards them. He recognized them from the council meeting, and began to suspect that there had been a session in progress.

"My men say you and that boy Trin went to calm the captured Shadowguard dragon," the Keeper said, drawing Spock's attention. "And now the dragon is missing."

Spock met the Keeper's irritated scowl with unruffled serenity. "Yes, we stopped by the Keep on the way to our shuttle," he answered truthfully. "But I did not take the dragon, if that is what you are implying." A twinge of guilt stabbed at Spock for that borderline lie – it was Trin that had actually released the dragon – but he ruthlessly shoved it down.

The Savant sighed heavily, and leaned against his wooden staff. "Trin and Peth are also missing."

"Only more evidence that the boy is working for the Shadowguard," Varen said.

"Perhaps he feared the outcome of the council meeting concerning his fate in the Vanguard," Spock said, for that was Trin's original reason for joining their exodus. He raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head at Varen. "Or perhaps a different Shadowguard agent is involved," he suggested pointedly. The Captain of the Guard returned his look steadily, saying nothing. It would be difficult for Varen to explain why he'd had men in the forest, attacking emissaries after a trade agreement had been reached. He had no doubt intended to blame the attack on the Shadowguard… but without Kirk and Spock's corpses, he had no way of reporting the attack if Spock did not speak of it. He had no proof that Jisson was with their group, or that they had freed her. Anything Varen said on the matter would only incriminate himself. And Spock had no concrete proof that Varen was responsible for the attack.

Varen's jaw clenched. "Perhaps," he agreed grudgingly.

"Well, whoever it was, it looks like I am surrounded by thieves and assassins," the Keeper snapped angrily. He gestured at the assembled security officers. "Speaking of which, where is that traitor?"

Spock clasped his hands calmly behind his back. "Jolan is no longer in my captain's employ."

The Keeper snorted. "I did warn him. Do you know where Trin is now?"

Spock gave a small shake of his head. "My captain and I broke company with Trin before we reached our shuttle," he said calmly. "We were pleased to find the Copernicus relatively intact," he continued, deftly changing the subject. He gestured at the shuttle's bent and hastily plastered nacelle. "It was damaged, however, and it was necessary for us to return to our ship to effect repairs. I regret that my captain was unable to return to conclude the trade agreement, but an urgent matter demanded his attention. As it is, I have little time before my ship must depart."

The Keeper looked mildly offended, but the Savant's hand on his shoulder tightened just a bit and the Keeper swallowed down his annoyance. "Very well," he said instead, and turned to lead the way back into the Court.

Spock gestured for two of the security officers to remain with the shuttle before following, and the large gathering of council members and their guards parted to allow them through. The soft whir of the tricorder was a constant sound in the background as Chekov walked beside him, and all throughout the next several hours while they hashed out the exact parameters of the trade. Spock fully trusted Ensign Chekov's ability to scan for trouble, and had expected Varen, or the Shadowguard, to cause some kind of disturbance, but nothing happened.

Spock found himself regretting that the talks were finished as they returned to the Enterprise. The completion of the mission had occupied his mind fully, and now it was more difficult to ignore the fact that McCoy had not sent any messages concerning the captain. Spock resisted the urge to contact the doctor. Instead, he relieved Sulu, set them on course for their rendezvous with Starbase 11, and filled out his report on the mission.

All too soon, however, Spock found himself sitting in the command chair with little to occupy his thoughts while time ticked away slowly.

McCoy eventually appeared on the bridge in person, and Spock kept his expression perfectly schooled as the doctor draped an arm casually across the back of the command chair. The Vulcan could feel the anxiety already dissipating from around the bridge, for McCoy wore a tired grin of good news.

"It was close for a bit, there, but he'll be just fine," McCoy reported quietly.

Tension drained out of Spock's shoulders and back, and he quickly stifled the sigh that wanted to escape from him. Instead, he gave the doctor a nod of acknowledgement.

"I don't suppose," McCoy drawled, and the chair turned slightly as he leaned forward, "there's any point in telling you to get some sleep?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "As the captain is currently unavailable, I am—"

McCoy cut him off with a wave of his hand and straightened up. "Yeah, I know," he said. Spock thought the doctor might press the issue, but he only narrowed his eyes for a moment in thought, and then patted the back of the chair and left.

Spock grew more convinced with each passing day that he would never understand humans.


	15. Chapter 15

Kirk drifted to awareness slowly and forced his eyes open. He eventually managed to focus on the familiar sight of sickbay's eggshell white ceiling. Within moments, a blob blocked his sight and resolved itself into McCoy's tired face. Kirk blinked up at him, and was rewarded with a wide, crooked smile.

"Well, hey there," McCoy drawled. Before Kirk could muster a reply, the doctor plucked at the short hairs at his temple. "You see this?" McCoy demanded with mock severity. "Grey hair, Jim. I swear, you're gonna to be the death of me."

It took more effort than he would have thought possible, but Kirk managed to heave one arm high enough to give McCoy an apologetic pat on the shoulder before letting it fall back to the bed. "Sorry, Bones." The words came out as a garbled croak, but the doctor seemed to grasp the meaning.

McCoy sighed and shook his head. "How are ya feeling?"

Kirk frowned slightly. "Tired."

"You've been out for nearly a day," McCoy said as Kirk worked to push himself up onto his elbows. He cast the doctor a quick glare when it looked like McCoy was moving to stop him. McCoy heaved a world weary sigh and instead helped Kirk into a sitting position.

"I take it you found the cure to my incurable problem?" Kirk asked, smiling.

McCoy waved a hand in the air with dramatic presentation. "I'm calling it Veygan Choriomeningitis," he announced grandly.

"That's a mouthful," Kirk said.

McCoy crossed his arms and shrugged. "Yeah well, I tried to make it sound as impressive as possible to try to get you off the hook with Coleman."

Kirk looked at him hopefully. "Did it work?"

"Nope," McCoy said with sickening cheerfulness. "Still, it's a nifty little bug. Gonna make a _fascinating_ medical paper that should keep the whole field hopping for a little while."

Kirk snorted as he swung his legs over the side of the biobed. "Glad to be of service, Bones."

"Don't you dare try to stand up," McCoy growled. "Or else I'll leave you laying on the floor as a lesson in stupidity."

"I would advise compliance, Captain," Spock's deep voice intoned gravely, and both looked over at him as he approached. "The good doctor has been extremely irritable of late."

"Now, how the blazes—" McCoy started, then caught motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to see Christine make her escape. "Oh, for heaven's sake," he snapped at her as the sickbay doors hissed closed.

Kirk's weak chuckle drew him back to his patient. "Spock's got all the ladies wrapped around his little finger, you should know that by now," he teased.

Spock raised an indignant eyebrow, but let the statement go unchallenged.

"Traitors," McCoy groused, glaring at the closed door.

Taking advantage of the doctor's temporary distraction, Kirk decided to ignore good advice and slid off the biobed. His legs refused to work, and he had to catch himself on the mattress with his elbows before he managed to get his knees to lock into place. Contrary to his threat, McCoy instantly grabbed his arm to steady him as he wobbled precariously. Kirk didn't remember the concept of balance being so difficult.

"You're an idiot," McCoy barked.

Kirk frowned at him. "How did I ever let you get so insubordinate?"

"I find myself wondering that on a daily basis, sir," Spock quipped dryly, folding his hands serenely behind his back.

"Shut up," McCoy snapped irritably.

Kirk sighed and passed a weary hand over his eyes. "Report," he said, glancing at Spock.

Spock narrowed his eyes at his captain when he pushed away from the support of the biobed and took an unsteady step. Spock flicked a glance at McCoy, noting his unhappy glower. The doctor crossed his arms in silent rebuke, but made no effort to stop him. Spock tracked his captain's slow progress as he spoke. "The Enterprise is currently en rout to Starbase 11 to rendezvous with Ambassador Coleman," he said, and Kirk winced. "We will arrive approximately ten hours, sixteen minutes late."

"Approximately?" Kirk asked, pausing in his circuit of sickbay to give Spock a fond smile.

"Yes, sir. Our current velocity is subject to slight fluctuations."

"Scotty broke the engines," McCoy translated.

"I see," Kirk said, and sighed. "Tell me something, gentlemen," he said, looking between his friends. "When was the last time the U.S.S. Enterprise showed up _on time_ for a diplomatic event of any kind, _and_ nothing went wrong?"

"Oh, wait – I know this one!" McCoy said, then hesitated. "No, never mind."

"I'll tell you when," Kirk said. "Before I took command, that's when." He pointed at McCoy. "I think you're right. We're cursed."

Spock took a breath, and McCoy stabbed a finger at him. "Don't say it, Spock."

Kirk laughed, enjoying being able to do so without being in agony. He felt a sudden urge to check on his ship and his crew. He looked down at his chest and plucked at the standard sickbay overalls he was wearing.

"One hour," McCoy said, unfolding an arm to hold up a single finger before making a chopping gesture with the same hand. "And then you're going to bed." He understood the benefit to the crew of having the captain appear on the bridge, but he wasn't going to sanction more than absolutely necessary.

"Now, wait a minute," Kirk started, drawing himself upright with annoyance.

"I'm serious, Jim," McCoy interrupted. "One hour maximum. In my medical opinion, even that much is probably pushing it." Kirk glared at him and McCoy sighed. "Don't make me pull rank. You know I will."

The captain narrowed his eyes in frustration, but he knew McCoy was probably right. He just didn't like being told he was limited, in any way. It grated on his nerves. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly and did his best to ignore McCoy's smug grin.

"Spock, go on ahead of me," Kirk said. "I'll be up as soon as I get changed."

Spock nodded and turned to leave, but halted as McCoy called after him. "Spock, I'm giving you a medical directive," he said firmly. Spock raised an eyebrow, and his eyes darted quickly between Kirk and McCoy. "You are to make certain that he goes to his quarters within one hour, and gets some rest. If he resists, nerve pinch him and drag him down here if necessary."

"Acknowledged, Doctor McCoy," Spock replied evenly. He glanced again at his captain, but Kirk and McCoy were now engaged in a blatant battle of wills and Spock decided to make a hasty retreat.

"Why did you have to do that?" Kirk snapped as the doors hissed closed.

McCoy smiled. "I've got it figured out," he said happily, ignoring Kirk's angry glare.

Kirk waited a second for McCoy to explain, but the doctor seemed content with that annoying smirk of his. "Got what figured out?" he demanded.

McCoy shook his head and crossed sickbay to where he had a fresh uniform folded on a counter. He handed the pile to Kirk and gave him a self-satisfied grin. "You're wasting your hour," was all he answered.

Kirk glared at the doctor for a moment, then decided to give up with a little grace. "All right, you win this one," he said with a sigh and began changing into his uniform.

McCoy nodded and gave Kirk a consoling pat on the arm before heading off to his office to give his patient some privacy and finish up his reports.

Kirk's irritation drained away shortly after McCoy left, and with it seemed to go most of his energy. Every muscle in his body ached, as though he'd been mountain climbing non stop for two days straight. He was tired. Very, very tired. His mouth was almost painfully dry and he thought about taking time to get a quick drink of water, but decided against it. He wasn't going to lose any more of his allotted hour.

He made his way to the turbolift, eager to check on the bridge. It wasn't that he didn't trust his command staff to run the ship in his absence, it was just that it was where he _needed_ to be. He made certain his shoulders were straight and that none of his exhaustion showed by the time the lift doors parted again. Kirk let out a little sigh of happiness as the sounds washed over him, and paused just past the threshold to cast a critical eye over his domain.

He had less than one second to watch his crew work before Uhura noticed him, and she quickly stood with a small gasp. She took a step toward him, looking for all the world as if she were about to hug him. Instead, she dropped her hands gracefully to her sides. "Captain on the bridge," she announced with a wide smile, invoking the ancient, seldom used custom with a humorous twist of her mouth.

Instantly, everyone on the bridge fairly leapt from their seats and the captain received a barrage of grins. Chekov actually _saluted_, and seemed especially pleased with himself when Kirk singled him out with a laugh of disbelief.

Kirk waved a hand dismissively. "As you were, people," he said. His crew returned to their consoles, smiling and casting furtive glances over their shoulders and at each other.

The Enterprise had her captain back, safe and well, and the universe was right again.

"Welcome home, sir," Uhura said softly, and gently brushed her fingers against his wrist.

Kirk smiled at her. "Thank you," he murmured, and she returned to her station.

Kirk glanced around the bridge again, noting the almost buoyant mood, and had to smile. He looked over at Spock and his smile widened at the pleased expression that he caught a glimpse of before the Vulcan abruptly hid it away. The captain took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he settled into the command chair. It was good to be home. Within minutes, he was deluged by a succession of yeomen with reports for him to sign. He smiled quietly to himself as he did so, knowing that word of his release from sickbay was spreading through the corridors. It was embarrassing, really, but it also caused a pleasant warmth that helped combat the tired ache of his limbs as he read Spock's report on the mission.

When Spock materialized quietly at his right elbow, Kirk did not have to check the chronometer to know that precisely one hour had passed. He looked up at his first, and the quality of his smile changed to resignation. Kirk stilled the sarcastic comment that was perched on his tongue and instead shook his head in acceptance. When he stood, however, a wave of dizziness passed over him and he rested a hand on the arm of his chair for balance. He closed his eyes and it passed quickly. He glanced anxiously around the bridge, but his crew were busy attending their stations and no one had noticed the lapse.

Except for Spock, of course. Spock was regarding him with careful scrutiny, one hand curled over the opposite arm of the chair to keep it from spinning.

"Mind the store, Mister Sulu," Kirk called as he headed for the turbolift, and the helmsman acknowledged as Spock fell into step beside him. The crew would assume their captain was indulging one of his random urges to tour the ship. Kirk was in fact tempted to do so, but each stride served to convince him otherwise. It felt like he hadn't slept in a week. He was grateful when the doors slid closed and he could relax the forced pose of ease.

"Captain," Spock began, but Kirk silenced him with a small wave of his hand.

"Deck five," he told the computer and grasped the handle. He glanced at Spock as the lift began to move, and couldn't help a surge of frustration at his own weakness. "Don't worry, Mother, I'll be a good boy and take a nap," he said with annoyance. Spock dropped his gaze to the deck and Kirk instantly regretted snapping at his friend. The irritation ebbed away in the face of Spock's silent acceptance of the undeserved jibe. Kirk sighed as the lift slowed and came to a halt, but the apology died on his lips as Spock followed him into the corridor. His first officer was fairly hovering at his side as though he expected him to collapse at any moment.

"Dammit, Spock," Kirk began angrily, stopping abruptly to glare at him.

Spock cut him off. "I have been given direct orders to ensure that you rest, and I intend to follow those orders to the letter." He clasped his hands behind his back with calm determination and faced his captain's ire with patience born of experience dealing with this illogical, prideful, stubborn human.

"It's a conspiracy," Kirk muttered, and turned away. He didn't believe in the no-win scenario except when it came to this persistent, over zealous, stubborn Vulcan.

As they drew near his quarters, he was forced to admit that there was some cause for concern. His legs felt like they were growing heavier with each step and the thought that he might need help finishing the short trip was enough to grant him a brief surge of fear-induced strength. Spock entered the cabin after him, and Kirk didn't have enough energy left to be annoyed. The bed suddenly looked like a vision of heaven. He ignored his Vulcan shadow as he sat on the edge of the mattress and bent to unzip a boot.

"Is there anything you require, Captain?" Spock asked.

Kirk glanced at the lavatory door. His mouth felt like he'd swallowed a wad of cotton, and now that he'd stopped moving he found it was impossible to start again. The door was less than a meter from the bed, but it may as well have been a hundred light years away. He sighed in defeat. "Some water would be nice…"

Spock moved to comply, grateful that his captain had finally accepted the situation. He plucked the glass from its niche above the sink and filled it. He had been away less than thirty seconds, but when he returned he had to force down a spike of alarm. His captain lay sprawled on the bed, legs dangling over the side as though he had suddenly fallen over backwards. Spock quickly set the glass on the shelf-like headboard, and rested a hand against Kirk's chest to assure himself that he was breathing. His pulse was slow and steady against his palm, and Spock relaxed when it became evident that his captain had only succumbed to fatigue.

Spock hesitated, but decided that he could not leave his captain in this state. He would not rest well, or for long.

And so Spock knelt to finish Kirk's task, removing first one boot and then the other. He slipped his arms under Kirk's back and knees and shifted him so that he lay properly atop the bed. He paused as Kirk curled onto his side, murmuring something too soft for even Vulcan hearing to decipher. Despite his exhaustion, Kirk was too light a sleeper for Spock to risk tugging the blanket out from under him. Instead, he moved the glass to make certain it was within easy reach should thirst awaken him, and then crossed to the environment controls on the desk to raise the cabin temperature.

After a moment of consideration, he also adjusted the communication console to reroute any inquiries to the science station. Kirk would likely be irritated when he discovered this, but Spock was prepared to cite McCoy's orders in his own defense. The same logic applied when he dimmed the lights and set the door chime to silent as he left. He locked the door with his personal security code as second in command of the ship. The Enterprise would arrive at her destination in nine point seven hours, and Spock fully intended that his captain not be disturbed for as much of that time as possible.

His orders were quite explicit.

Duty and logic demanded nothing less.

That part of him which he consigned to his human side gently mocked him with quiet laughter that sounded suspiciously like McCoy.

~ Fini

* * *

**Author's Note:** This was my first multi-chaptered story, and I'd chosen to start off by focusing on my two favorite characters. In retrospect, I wish I had included McCoy because his reactions are always so priceless. Kirk and Spock interact with each other somewhat differently in McCoy's absence, however, and that was what I was aiming for here. But not to worry – for those of you missing the good doctor, be assured that he plays a lead role in the next episode.

Thanks for sticking with Dragons of Veyga until the end!

(In case anyone is wondering, I am aware that the accepted spelling of the disease is Vegan Choriomeningitis. However, I have vegetarians and vegans in my family and calling the natives of this planet Vegans just kept irritating me for some reason. To the best of my knowledge, the term is not actually spelled out anywhere in canon, in any of the shows. So I took a bit of a liberty there. Also, I want to add that it wouldn't be a true Trek story without at least one massive loose end. That said, however, the working title of the sequel is 'The Renegades of Veyga'. Not any time soon, though, unfortunately. My Muse is currently obsessed with a tale starring Spock and McCoy stuck in Iowa's past attempting to save an infant Kirk from a Klingon assassin with a stolen alien time-travel device…)


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